The Evil Within
by Nimue Tucker
Summary: Book Four of the Peacemaker Chronicles. Sequel to the Peacemaker Prophesy. Buffy and Spike must defend their daughter against an enemy they never thought they would have to fight. One of their own. But who? When? And what lies in wait?
1. Daddy

Title: Daddy (Part One - Book Four - The Evil Within)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: First chapter of the Fourth Book. Book One - Twist. Book Two - A New Life. Book Three - The Peacemaker Prophesy. If you haven't read them, you might get lost. In Book Four, Spike and Buffy are charged with protecting their daughter from being harmed by one among them. But who? When? The new threat is something that they never expected nor are they ready to do what they may have to do to defend Emma.  
  
  
  
Daddy  
  
  
  
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddddeeeeeeeee!" A chirping, little voice sang from the room next door. Spike opened one eye, staring at the red glow of the alarm clock. Four thirty-two AM. They had been in bed for exactly three hours and asleep for precisely twenty-seven minutes.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddddeeee!" The voice came again like a wave crashing into his skull. Spike groaned. Buffy chuckled.  
  
"Oh, so you're awake?" Spike murmured, nudging her calf with his bare foot.  
  
"Umhum," Buffy sighed, smiling and stretching like a cat.  
  
"So why don't you go fetch Emma and bring her in with us?" Spike grumbled.  
  
"Because she's not calling me," Buffy answered, smiling. The two-year-old had a pretty good vocabulary, which did indeed include 'mummy', but she tailored her words and her pitch for her intended target. This was most definitely a Spike mission.  
  
"She's just calling, Pet. Doesn't matter who..." Spike mumbled, pulling the pillow over his ears. Buffy tugged the cushion from his head as another chorus of "Daddy!" rang from the baby's room.  
  
"*I'm* not the one who spent three hours teaching her to say it," Buffy  
  
retorted. "So, go, Big Bad Daddy." She chuckled evilly, planting her foot just above his perfect backside and scooting him out of the bed.  
  
"Alright, girl," he growled at his beloved, one foot hitting the floor.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! *Help! *"  
  
It was barely a split second between the time Spike's other foot hit the  
  
floor until he had the sheet wrapped around his waist and was in Emma's  
  
doorway. Buffy was behind in a flash, the comforter tucked around her chest like a towel. Emma stood in the crib, hanging onto the railing and giggling madly. Three of the fairies still stood sentry over the tow headed two-year-old, but other than a horrible case of insomnia, she looked right as rain.  
  
"Emma?" Spike asked, stepping tentatively toward the crib, one eyebrow  
  
raised as he approached.  
  
"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" The baby sang, holding her arms out. Spike lifted her up, pulling the little girl against him. Buffy walked over next to them, trying not to trip over the trailing end of a queen-sized comforter.  
  
"Emma, you alright?" Spike said, brushing white blonde ringlets gently off her pretty face.  
  
"Emma," the girl repeated, smiling. "Daddy."  
  
Buffy inspected her, furrowing her brow. "Seems OK," Buffy said, shrugging at Spike. "Emma, baby, where did you learn 'help'?"  
  
"Help! Help! Help!" She chirped like a baby sparrow, then burst into  
  
giggles.  
  
"Where'd you learn that one, Mite?" Spike asked. Neither of them was ever sure how much she understood. She was two and timeless. A toddler and a Prophesy. Never could tell.  
  
"Dawnie!" The little girl giggled as Dawn appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Nib-bit". Buffy caught her daughter's giggles and Spike smirked at the lot of them. The little girl was like a parrot. Have to watch what I say in the room next door, Spike thought.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy said, turning towards her sister and trying to maintain some composure. Dawn rubbed her eyes, yawning.  
  
"What's going on? Em OK?"  
  
"Did you happen to teach her how to say 'help'?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Thought it was a good word to know around here," Dawn answered. "Better than 'Nib-bit'."  
  
"Wait a bloody minute," Spike huffed. "You always..."  
  
"*She* doesn't need to call me that," Dawn snapped.  
  
"Enough!" Buffy interrupted, still chuckling and refereeing another round of Family Feud, Slayer style. "Dawn, not sure she's understanding the *when* here..."  
  
"Sorry," Dawn conceded. "I meant well."  
  
"I know," Buffy said, the giggles bubbling back to the surface for both her and the toddler. "Kinda funny...now."  
  
"Scared me half to death!" Spike exclaimed melodramatically.  
  
"You *are* half dead," Dawn baited, grinning.  
  
"I should throttle you," Spike growled back. "Insult my parental skills and your pet name all in the course of a minute..."  
  
"I *love* Niblet," Dawn sighed. "And maybe the whole 'help' thing was a  
  
little not thought out."  
  
"Right then," Spike agreed, trying to hide his own amusement.  
  
"Can we go back to bed now?" Dawn was yawning almost continuously and her face was red from rubbing.  
  
"You can. We have hyper baby to deal with," Buffy answered, stroking Emma's bare leg.  
  
"Have fun. You know...school.. or I would help."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Buffy said. Emma reached forward from her perch in Spike's arms, grabbing hold of Buffy's hair and tugging.  
  
"Ow!" The older Summers girl whined, nearly losing her grip on the  
  
comforter.  
  
"Eww. Are you guys naked?" Dawn whined.  
  
"Out!" Spike ordered. Dawn giggled, bolting from the doorway.  
  
"Shift work?" Buffy asked, looking up at Spike.  
  
"Right," he answered. "But can we take her in with us? If we have to be sleep deprived, can we at least do it in our own bed?"  
  
"I guess," Buffy sighed. "But no falling asleep and we are both going to have to think about the pajamas thing."  
  
"Right."  
  
*****  
  
"Pulling an all-nighter?" Tara asked, rubbing her eyes and making her way into the dining room of the flat that she and Willow now shared. Willow was bent over the table, five empty diet coke cans lined in front of her like a tin wall.  
  
"Have a big test tomorrow," Willow answered, yawning, her eyes drooping.  
  
The caffeine had only served to give her the jitters. Her mind had fallen asleep about three hours prior.  
  
"Usually you're much more... not last minute," Tara said, sitting down in a chair across from her, taking Willow's hands in hers.  
  
"Been... distracted.. lately," Willow stuttered, yawning again.  
  
"Med school?" Tara asked, looking at all of the MCAT manuals laying around the table, tucked under copies of Gray's Anatomy and Comparative Vertebrate Biology. "You know there's no rush. It'll still be there in the fall. No one will fault you if you don't get in on winter admissions," she continued, smiling serenely.  
  
"I know," Willow replied softly. "But it's about time one of us could patch up all the ouchies. I can't do anything... magical... anymore to help."  
  
"You help."  
  
"Not enough."  
  
Tara giggled. Willow looked at her curiously a moment, but was infected by the smile. "Wonder if UC Sunnydale's Med School offers Vampire Physiology."  
  
"I think it's in the catalog, right after Demon Dentistry 101," Willow  
  
joked. As soon as the giggles faded, that all too common uncomfortable  
  
silence settled over them.  
  
"There's more on your mind, isn't there?" Tara asked, cocking her head to the side and staring at her love. Willow looked at her with resignation.  
  
"I know it sounds stupid... But I feel like something's ... wrong,"  
  
"It's not stupid, baby," Tara said, brushing her red hair from her cheeks. "Do you know what?"  
  
"No," Willow answered, her voice lowering in frustration. "Just feels... out of balance. Almost like everything is *too* good. So it can't be..."  
  
"Real?"  
  
"Real." Willow echoed.  
  
"Is it...us?" Tara could no longer look at her. It had been a hard road getting back here. The thought that it was all for nothing was too hard. Instead, she stared at her clasped hands.  
  
"No! No!" Willow answered, shock in her voice. "You're... perfect. I  
  
just... I don't want to ever find out what it's like to lose you again. Not any of you. But especially not you."  
  
"Is that what you think is going to happen?" Tara's eyes twinkled in the dim lamplight. Those eyes always mesmerized Willow.  
  
"I don't know. I hope not. But I don't know," Willow answered, sullenly. She sighed, stretching, realizing that one more minute of anatomy might induce catatonia. "Go to bed?"  
  
"Thought you'd never ask."  
  
*****  
  
"Anya, it's four am. What's with the vacuuming?" Xander huffed from  
  
between two pillows.  
  
"It is four thirty two and I can't sleep," she yelped over the roar of the Hoover.  
  
"I have to get up in a hour and go to the site anyway. Can you hold off on the heavy cleaning just that long?"  
  
The vacuum clicked off. The room was still dark. Anya had reasoned that she didn't want to disturb Xander with her insomnia, so better to leave the lights out. The vacuum? Well, that came after he didn't bother to wake up and realize that she was sleepless and scared. Scared. No clue why. But scared all the same.  
  
"Thanks," Xander grunted, pulling the covers over his head.  
  
"Xander?" Anya asked, jutting one leg out and crossing her arms.  
  
"Wh...at?" he whined, tossing the covers back down.  
  
"Xander? Do you love me?" Her voice was flat, toneless. But her eyes  
  
crackled with emotion. Fear. Need. Desire. Xander paused a second,  
  
spending the time it took to focus his sleepy eyes on her and not just blurt out the first thought that crept into his head.  
  
"Of course I do," he answered, reaching his hand out to her. She grabbed hold as if clinging to a life preserver.  
  
"Are you just saying that because of some upcoming world ending scenario?" she asked, kneeling on the bed next to him.  
  
"No," he answered, looking at her curiously. "I'm saying it because I do. And nothing bad is going to happen." Anya shot a glance at him, reminding him of where they lived, who they associated with. "Well, nothing world ending," he corrected.  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Anya asked, shifting nervously onto her heels. She felt worn down by unknown demons haunting her sleep.  
  
"I can't," Xander answered. "Not really with the whole seeing the future show. But I know we've been through almost everything and made it. And I know I love you."  
  
"Good," Anya answered, stretching out next to him, her right arm and leg  
  
draped over his body. "You can go to bed now."  
  
*****  
  
Giles stood quietly in the entryway of Quentin's den. The house wasn't so much of a home but a museum. It felt barren. Musty. Devoid of life and human emotion. Staying here was almost insufferable after his recent life in Sunnydale. Constantly, it amazed Giles what Buffy had managed to do on her own. What Spike had managed to do. A sort of paternal pride flushed his cheeks when he thought of them. They had created, from the most unnatural circumstance, a life that was more normal, more pleasant, than any Giles had experienced in his days. Out of ashes, they had built a palace and ruled it wisely.  
  
Simply put, he missed being part of that life.  
  
Still, aligning himself with Quentin, at least for the time being, was what he needed to do to protect the very life that he had grown to love. There was no doubt that the Slayer and the Vampire could handle the demons of the Hellmouth, but this greater threat, the one that would kill their child, the one that stood before him, chatting on the telephone as if he were actually a feeling human being, would take every last one of them to defeat. It was not Quentin's, Draconius's, strength that concerned Giles, rather his complete lack of humanity. This man would turn a child inside out and wear her heart as a pendant for a moment of glory or power. That sort of evil was something of which Buffy could not conceive. And Spike, if he ever had the capacity to understand it, could no longer fathom its toll. His heart had grown too large to understand such atrocities.  
  
"Rupert," Quentin said, setting the phone back in the cradle with a soft  
  
click. "You said you had news of the Prophesy. I'm all ears. Sit," he  
  
continued, gesturing at two over-stuffed chairs.  
  
Giles had been working double time translating the text using Quentin's  
  
information and reporting back to him, then using Spike's matrix and storing the information privately. He sent the true translation in coded bits to the one Watcher he had grown to trust. At least in matters pertaining to Quentin Travers.  
  
"Yes," Giles responded, sitting down and unfolding a leather pouch full of musty papers. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he  
  
shuffled through the pile.  
  
"What did you discover?" Quentin asked, smiling a dry, cracked, smile. One devoid of any discernable emotion.  
  
"It seems that the demon threat you had suspected should arise in the nights immediately preceding the Blood Moon. I believe that falls near Halloween."  
  
"Odd time for demonic activity," Quentin replied, his hand placed pensively on his chin. Obviously a practiced maneuver, Giles thought.  
  
"As well I thought," Giles continued. "From the description, the attack will arise in the form of a cross dimensional demon. However, the demon seems more interested in the One than the Peacemaker."  
  
"What sort of demon?"  
  
"Something along the lines of a Tarwali," Giles answered, showing a sketch to Quentin. "Venomous, however, the venom is not deadly. Creates a state of suspended animation."  
  
"That seems a bit of a waste," Quentin replied, tapping his manicured  
  
fingers on the arm of the chair. "Theories?"  
  
"It is enormous and quite strong. His venom glands are numerous and near impossible to avoid. The suspended animation would have the added effect of being able to inactivate one of the halves of the One without transferring its essence into the other." The worry consumed Giles as he spoke. Although he knew the translation was false, he assumed Quentin would do something to distract Buffy and Spike from the threat. This, if anything, fit the bill.  
  
"Quite a vile creature," Quentin commented, handing the sketch back to  
  
Giles. Lenora did well in conjuring it, he thought.  
  
"Terribly," Giles answered. "However, it is odd that this particular demon would enter this dimension in the first place. Their taste for humans, and for human culture, is minimal and they are purportedly quite intelligent."  
  
For enough money or power, anything would be palatable, Quentin thought.  
  
"I'm not sure," he responded. "I'm afraid I know little of them. But as you are so gifted in this area, oblige me and see what else you can  
  
discover."  
  
The wild goose chase continues, Giles thought. He nodded back at Quentin in response, sick to his stomach at the concept of amusing the creature before him in any manner.  
  
"You *will* update me with any new information, will you not, Rupert?"  
  
"Of course," Giles responded, standing. "Should we warn Buffy?"  
  
"Absolutely. I'll send word straight away," Quentin responded with his  
  
cracked grin. Again, Giles' stomach flipped just looking at him.  
  
"Good, well, I'll be off," Giles replied quietly. "Please give Buffy my  
  
regards." He knew Quentin had no intention of warning Buffy of anything. He could only hope that the dossier he had sent with both the true translation as well as the cover would make it to them in time.  
  
Quentin studied his protÃ©gÃ© for a moment, reading the concern in his eyes. The fear. "I'm sure she's fine, Rupert," he commented, still studying the ally he knew was his foe. For now, he thought to himself.  
  
To be contd. 


	2. The Dog

Title: The Dog (Part Two - The Evil Within)  
Author: Nimue  
Rating: PG -13  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
Feedback: Yes, please  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
Summary: Buffy trains for an unknown threat. Spike arrives and takes her mind off of her worries, but when they rejoin the gang, they realize that the concern is not Buffy's alone.  
  
  
The Dog  
  
  
Buffy pounded the punching bag in the training room of the Magic Box.  
Something seemed off. Even if the little episode with Emma was a complete mistake, a Dawn induced misunderstanding, the timing was eerie. A little itch in the back of Buffy's mind was driving her mad for days. Sort of like the dreams she used to have, but without the aid of visuals.  
  
Emma sat quietly in her playpen, seemingly conversing with her bunny and a small stuffed St. Bernard that Spike had brought back from somewhere for her. She loved anything he gave her. She loved him. Buffy knew that sooner or later she'd have to face facts. Emma was a serious daddy's girl. And Buffy would have to share Spike. Not something she had every really thought of before. In the past, that would have been a blessing. At this point, the thought kind of hurt.  
  
Still, Emma was everything. So pretty and light and calm and sweet.  
Really, the perfect baby. And she loves me too, Buffy thought, as she  
tossed punches half heartedly at the leather bag, watching her daughter play out of the corner of her eye. I lucked out, she added mentally, as the little girl chattered at her pets in a made-up language. Or maybe it was a real language that Buffy just couldn't understand. Never could tell.  
  
Maybe it was time to get her a real pet.  
  
The strangest leaps of thought coursed through her head as she hit the bag. Punch after punch, breath after breath. All the while, the nagging seed of something yet to come burned in her mind. Something. Punch. Something. Punch.  
  
Always something.  
  
The door to the training room opened, allowing a hazy light to filter in  
from the main room of the shop. Spike stepped through the door, setting two bags down on the bench. Slowly, he sauntered over to Buffy, his walk spelling out his motive. She watched that walk. The way his legs moved, his hips swaying with purpose, his arms swinging all too casually by his sides. Just the walk was sometimes enough to set off the little hum in her body that made her remember how this all started.  
  
"Having a good spot of afternoon violence, Pet?" Spike asked, stopping just to the side of the bag.  
  
"Training," she panted, going back to punching the bag. Emma had swung her head around and was watching them silently, grinning her sweetest smile.   
  
"And is the bag a worthy opponent?" he taunted, placing one strong hand on the other side of the leather and stopping its momentum. The rain of jabs ended.  
  
"Could be better."  
  
"Shall we?" he asked, sliding off the short leather jacket he'd worn out and about, leaving him in a pair of blue jeans and a green button down. Colour definitely suited him.  
  
"Think you can take me?" Buffy said, grinning evilly and planting her feet, her taped hands coming up to her face.  
  
"You don't have a chance," he answered, matching her stance. Emma giggled. To her, this was play. Nothing about their dance was frightening. In Emma's brief experience in this world, this was like puppies scrapping in the yard.  
  
Buffy threw a nasty left hook that nearly caught Spike in the jaw, his head reeling back, his eyes filling with glee. This girl is perfect, he thought, deflecting her next blow and tossing a spin kick at her hip. She jumped out of the way, launching a barrage of quick jabs. She likes to fight, she likes to shag, she's smarter than a whip and she's a great mum. Can't do much better than that, he thought as he caught her wrist and spun her until her back was pressed against his chest.  
  
"Think I've caught you, Love," Spike purred in her ear. She sunk an elbow into his stomach and spun away, letting out a little victory giggle.  
  
"Not on your life," she answered, hopping onto the pommel horse, crouching on its canvas surface. He came at her, her hands grabbing for her ankles. Buffy planted her hands on his shoulders and flipped herself over him. Spike spun, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Practicing?" he asked, launching into the air and spinning, catching her shoulder and pushing her to the side. She grunted, returning an equally perfect airborne kick.  
  
"Practice makes perfect," she answered, ducking from a right hook and  
tossing a left almost simultaneously. Spike avoided the punch and back  
flipped over the mats to the wall.  
  
"Looks like you've done your homework too," Buffy quipped.  
  
"You know how I so love research," he answered, as she darted at him  
throwing a high kick that would have landed on his shoulder had he not  
grabbed her ankle and used her momentum to toss her on the mats. Before she could position her legs to launch him across the room, he dropped down on her, kneeling with a leg on either side of her hips, pinning her hands behind her head.  
  
"You understand that I could toss you to the other wall with the flick of the hips, " Buffy taunted, bucking underneath him.  
  
"I am sure you can find better uses for your hips," Spike purred, leaning down, his face as close to hers as it could be without touching her skin. Buffy felt her blood ignite, flooding her veins. It was passion, she thought. He fights with it. He loves with it. That is why it feels the same.  
  
The thought was shattered as his lips brushed against hers like butterfly wings. Her eyes drifted shut and her mind was about as useful as her shaking legs. His tongue traced the outline of her lips and she could feel her heart race at twice the speed at which it had pounded during their sparring. He had passion for both, and he did both better than any man or monster she knew, but this was his element. Making her body sing.  
  
Buffy nipped his lip as he settled against her, her mouth hungrily searching for his. Slowly, dreamily, he pulled away. "Ah, ah," he whispered, nodding to the other side of the room, hidden from view because of the mats piled behind them. "Don't think she needs to know bout the birds and bees quite yet, Love." Buffy shook her head to clear it and glanced over the pile behind her. Emma had gone back to occupying herself with the bunny and St. Bernard. Buffy's head fell back to the padding in frustration.  
  
Spike leaned down and kissed her softly again. "I'll make it up to you  
later," he whispered, his mouth brushing hers as he spoke. She nodded,  
wanting to argue, but knowing that there wasn't anything to argue about.  
  
"Promise?" she whispered breathlessly.  
  
"Have I ever let you down?" he asked, brushing her hair from her face.  
  
"No," she answered smiling up at him. That smile, he thought, that silly, innocent grin of hers had roughly the same effect on him that his kisses had on her. He sat up quickly, rocking back on his heels. She propped herself on her elbows, noticing the reaction. "Did I do something... wrong?" She asked, evilly, grabbing a belt loop on the front of his jeans and twisting it back and forth, her hands brushing against denim. She smiled that schoolgirl smile again, and he felt himself gasping for air. "Funny how power can just... shift," she whispered, still staring at him with her sparkling green eyes.  
  
"Buffy, I..." he muttered. "We... Emma."  
  
"I know," Buffy answered, her eyes, her slowly twirling hand, turning his brain into oatmeal. "It'll have to wait," she whispered, her coral lips pouting into a slow rolling grin.  
  
The door to the training room opened slowly. Buffy's hand dropped casually to the mat. Spike's head turned so fast Buffy thought it might spin off.  
  
"Buffy?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy chirped, never taking her eyes off Spike.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"We were training and we..." Spike muttered, the blood not flowing properly into his brain in order to produce coherent sentences.  
  
"And I fell," Buffy saved. "You got a lot of homework?"  
  
"Yeah," Dawn said. "Came to ask if it was OK if I skipped training today."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, Niblet," Spike muttered, trying to tear his gaze away from  
Buffy and not managing to cast more than a split second glance at her.  
  
"Do you think you could keep an eye on Emma while you study? Spike and I need to run a few errands," Buffy asked, watching the little glimmer of joy and impending relief take over his blue eyes.  
  
"Sure. You going to get a puppy? You promised we could get one after  
school started."  
  
"We'll see," Buffy answered. "Maybe we'll consider the dog while we're  
out," she said, grinning from the corner of her mouth and winking at Spike.   
  
"Time to go, Pet," Spike nearly choked, un-tucking his button down and  
hopping up, nearly dragging Buffy to her feet.  
  
"How long will you be?" Dawn asked as they passed by her.  
  
"Well come back at dinner time," Buffy said. "Bring you some good wholesome study food."  
  
Spike stopped long enough to lean down and kiss Emma's forehead and bolted out the door, Buffy trailing behind.  
  
*****  
  
They barely made it to the street before Spike ducked into an alley, pulling her with him. She felt the cold brick against her back, then promptly forgot about it as his lips clashed against hers. She sank bonelessly into the wall.  
  
"That was... not fair... in there..." he whispered between bruising kisses.  
  
"All's fair in love and war," Buffy answered, pulling away enough to look up at him with eyes drunk with desire.  
  
"Which is it then, Pet?" he asked, his mouth against her neck, his human teeth nipping a little path down her jugular.  
  
"Tough call," she answered, her hands sliding under his shirt. He shuddered as her warm fingers slid up his abs and made slow, lazy circles on his chest.  
  
"Yours to make," he commented, his fingers pulling the strap of her tank top to the side and kissing across her collarbone. She purred, her body beginning to move on autopilot.  
  
"Crypt. Now. Decision. Later," she gasped, pushing him away and darting down the alley, Spike at her heels.  
  
*****  
  
"What time is it?" Buffy asked, rolling onto her side. It looked as if a cyclone had hit the upper level of the crypt. Their little home away from home. Spike lifted an almost boneless arm and grabbed her watch from the floor a few feet away, turning it in his palm and bringing it to his face as if it took all the effort in the world to move.  
  
"Six twenty," he answered, letting his hand fall down across his bare  
stomach.  
  
"Where does time go?" Buffy asked, whimpering at some unknown muscle strain as she tried to prop herself on her elbow.  
  
"Not sure, Love. But as long as it's well spent," Spike answered, pulling her down so her head rested on his shoulder.  
  
"Was that love or war?" Buffy asked, chuckling, her fingers tracing a nip mark she'd left on his shoulder.  
  
" I think we compromised and met somewhere in between," Spike responded, his aching body never so happy to be completely sore.  
  
"We need to get back," she whispered, reluctantly. "Dawn's going to be  
upset that we didn't get her a dog."  
  
Spike thought about Buffy's remark in the training room. Then about the  
last several hours. Then about the inappropriateness of commenting further. "Taken care of, Love," Spike said quietly.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, propping herself up to look down on his face.  
  
"Those bags I brought into the training room?"  
  
"You had a dog in a paper bag? Buffy asked, squinching her nose.  
  
"No," he answered, drawing out the word. "Dog food. Bowls. All that  
sodding nonsense. I made a few calls. Found one that would be good around the tot. Be here tomorrow."  
  
"You did?" Her eyes blinked with a mixture of surprise and contentment.  
  
"Where did you think I was all morning?" Spike asked.  
  
"I don't know. Some manly Vampire mission," Buffy answered, chuckling at herself.  
  
"Oh, quite," Spike said, lowering his voice an octave. "Grocery store.  
Bank. Phone calls. Pet store. That shop you always stop and stare at the windows..."  
  
"You went there? Why?"  
  
"To stare in the windows," he said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Did you buy me prezzies?" she giggled, bouncing next to him and  
inadvertently rubbing against him in all the wrong and far too right ways. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from starting this whole afternoon over again.  
  
"I suppose," he said, leaning up to kiss her, "you'll just have to wait and see."  
  
"Are they at the Magic Box?" she said, hopping up and beginning to collect clothes, tossing his at him and putting hers back on as she found them.  
  
"That all you're interested in, Pet?" he asked sitting up, still naked on the cold floor. He knew the answer, but asked anyway. She stopped, looking at him, wearing only her workout pants, her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"You know better," she answered, walking back over to him and sitting down on his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck softly. "You should, at least."  
  
"I do," he answered. " I love you, Buffy."  
  
"Always?"  
  
"Every day."  
  
*****  
  
It was seven fifteen when they strolled back into the Magic Box. It seemed that everyone had ended up there. Xander and Anya sat on stools by the counter, chatting about something very secretively. Seemed to do that a lot now a days. Willow's head was buried in her laptop, sitting next to Dawn at the table. Tara had a book open in front of her and Emma on her lap, letting the baby read it to her in a sing songy voice as if each page had only three to five words on it.  
  
"If I'd a known, I woulda brought more to eat," Buffy said, walking to the table and handing Dawn a sub and a bottle of juice.  
  
"Tuna?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Yay!" the girl answered, ripping open the paper. Spike and Buffy sat  
down, tearing into their own food as if they had not eaten in nearly a  
century.  
  
"How's the studying?" Buffy asked, downing a carton of milk and opening the next one. Spike watched her, awed at how someone so tiny could put away that much food in such a short time.  
  
"Not bad. Paper due day after tomorrow."  
  
"On?" Spike asked.  
  
"19th century lit," she answered. Buffy chuckled and Spike kicked her under the table, knowing what went through her mind.  
  
"Lived that, Niblet. Want me to give it a read before you turn it in?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered. "Should be done with it by morning."  
  
"Right then," Spike said. "Leave it on the counter and I'll look it over."  
  
"Tutor now too?" Buffy asked, grinning.  
  
"Yeah, Spike. Wanna take an anatomy test for me Monday?" Willow joked.  
  
"You could write my abnormal psych dissertation," Tara contributed, smiling softly.  
  
"Feeling ganged up on yet?" Buffy asked, as Spike sunk back into the chair.   
  
"I'm being used for my brain. Now that's a new sensation," Spike shot back. Buffy glanced at him, a little shocked, then watched a smile break on his face. "The answer is no. One high school literature paper does not a patsy make."  
  
"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Xander asked, coming over to the table.  
  
"Patrol," Buffy answered, breaking open a bag of chips.  
  
"Any big bad nasties we should be looking out for?" Willow asked. "I mean other than the blood flow to the spleen?"  
  
"Dunno," Buffy said.  
  
"What do you mean, Pet?" Spike said, leaning his elbows on the table and studying her face.  
  
"I have this weird feeling."  
  
"Been going on for about a week?" Spike asked, watching her face. He could feel that little nagging seed of doubt in his own mind as well.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy answered. "Like something's out there. Or something's coming or.. something."  
  
"Do you know what?" Tara asked, looking at Willow.  
  
"No idea," Buffy answered.  
  
"Something does feel... odd," Anya added. "Couldn't sleep last night. Woke up at four thirty and felt like there was something wrong."  
  
"Weird," Willow commented, "Me too."  
  
"That's when Emma woke up," Buffy said, looking over at her daughter who was decidedly droopy after being fed strained carrots and oatmeal by her aunt Tara.  
  
"And when she screamed for help," Spike said quietly. "Niblet, did you  
teach her that yesterday?"  
  
"Nope," Dawn said, polishing off her sandwich. "Like a week or two ago."   
  
Spike looked over at Emma, watching her pretty blue eyes blink more slowly by the minute. "Think we'll keep her with us tonight."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "We need to take her home. Anyone up for babysitting while we patrol?"  
  
"Why don't we just move the whole study shindig to Casa de Summers, " Xander commented. Buffy looked at Spike, then up at Xander. "Or whatever it is now."  
  
"Just don't leave her alone, alright?" Spike asked, picking the little girl up from Tara's lap and cradling her against his chest.  
  
"Sure, Spike," Tara answered. "Never alone."  
  
To be contd. 


	3. Seeds of Doubt

Title: Seeds of Doubt (Part Three - The Evil Within) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy is haunted by a nagging concern for her family's safety. Spike discusses worst case scenarios and making choices he'd not want to make. Quentin launches his plan. Dawn is caught in the middle of an incident that will change them all.  
  
Seeds of Doubt  
  
"So, what is it, Spike? Do you know?" Buffy asked, looking up at him as they walked through the cemetery. It had been a quiet night on patrol. A fledgling vamp that Buffy dusted without breaking stride. No other nasty had shown its face.  
  
"Wish I did, Pet," Spike answered. "Thought it was just me."  
  
"You?" Buffy asked. "You what?"  
  
"Thought I was being overly protective is all," he blurted in a rare moment of shy embarrassment. "Find myself constantly worried about what could happen to her. To you."  
  
"Constantly?" Buffy asked, her brow furrowed.  
  
"Alright. All too often."  
  
"You know I can hold my own, Spike."  
  
"I know that better than anyone, Love," he answered, flashing a brief smile which she returned warmly. "But I also know that love can make you as weak as it can strong."  
  
"What do you mean?" His pace slowed until finally he paused, taking her hands in his. She backed her against a granite stone, lifting her to sit on its smooth, cold surface. His fingers wound through hers. She could feel his troubled thoughts like a torrent in her own mind.  
  
"Sometimes when you love someone, you do stupid things. Dangerous things. To protect them. To save them from hurt. May seem valiant and noble at the time, but it doesn't change that they're not the best course of action."  
  
"Not sure I'm with the understanding," Buffy said, crinkling her nose. Spike sighed, frustrated, not with her but rather because his words failed him. It was not a concept with which he was used to grappling. It wasn't often he couldn't express himself.  
  
"Buffy." Her name came out more as a sigh than a word. "If anything happens.... If you ever have to make a choice.... If something happens to me again, you have to know when to stop. When to let go. It's something you've yet to learn."  
  
"I wouldn't just leave you. Not try," Buffy answered. "First of all, it's my *job*. All that saving the world Chosen One stuff. But more than that..."  
  
"Your *job*," Spike interrupted, "is to protect Emma. To be her mum. If something happens and you have to make a choice, you *need* to remember that."  
  
Buffy was silent, weighing it in her mind. "Spike, do you know something? I mean... Have you talked to Giles?"  
  
"No, Love. Nothing like that," he answered, brushing her hair from her face with the back of his hand. Studying her for the millionth time and still finding something he'd never noticed. "We just need to remember, that's all."  
  
"You know," she began, "it goes for you too. If saving me, or trying to, seems more dangerous than not, you have to stay with her."  
  
"Let's hope we never have to make that choice," Spike said softly, leaning in and letting his lips brush hers.  
  
"We won't," she whispered as his face moved from hers. "They couldn't do it before the whole One thing. No one has a chance now."  
  
Spike smiled at her, knowing that she wanted to believe it, but had been through enough to know that there was always a way. They'd said enough for now. "Pretty quiet night," he commented, gazing round the unusually calm cemetery. It seemed that only the two of them were sharing the night with the moon and the stars.  
  
"Wanna call it quits?" Buffy asked, looking up into his deep blue eyes, not really wanting to go home just yet.  
  
"Might as well walk a while longer," Spike answered, lifting her back to her feet. "Nice night and all."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said quietly, letting him take her hand and lead her back to the path. "Not too often we get a quiet night."  
  
*****  
  
Most of the lights were off when the reached the house on Revello. Buffy opened the door as quietly as she could, the hiss of the wooden door on the throw rug sounding like a scream against the silence of the house. Spike crept in behind her, closing the door with a subtle click.  
  
Willow and Tara were asleep on the couch, books strewn across the coffee table and spilling onto the floor. It looked as if Xander and Anya had opted for their own apartment. Buffy grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and walked to the women, spreading it over their curled forms as Spike made his way upstairs soundlessly. Amazing how he could do that, Buffy thought. Especially with boots on.  
  
She found him leaned against the doorframe to Emma's room. Watching. Buffy sidled up beside him, peeking in from around his crossed arms. The lamp filled the room with a hazy, surreal glow, but there was no sound save for the rhythmic rise and fall of breath.  
  
Dawn was asleep in the recliner; Emma sprawled in her lap, a storybook dangling precariously from the edge of the chair. Whatever the teen's shortcomings had been, she'd done a lot of growing up in the last two years. With Emma, she was a pro. She never whined about helping. Never complained about the attention that the baby garnered from everyone. Dawn loved her, and loving her made it all right.  
  
"You get the Mite, I'll see to Niblet," Spike whispered, nudging Buffy's arm. Buffy nodded in reply, tiptoeing into the room and lifting the soundly sleeping tot from Dawn's lap. "With us?" Spike asked as Buffy brushed past. Buffy looked at the little girl, her blonde ringlets falling loosely over her face.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy answered, holding Emma close, not wanting to let her go. Spike leaned down, sliding an arm under Dawn's knees and one under her back, lifting her against his chest. Like the rest of them, she slept like a log and barely moved as Spike carried her to her room, laying her gently on her bed and covering her as if she were as much his own as Emma. He smoothed her dark hair from her face.  
  
"Night Nibs," he whispered, closing the door and heading back to the hall.  
  
Emma was tucked under a blanket in the middle of the bed when Spike returned. Buffy was slouched on the edge, tossing her shoes and socks into the corner. He could sense her doubt. Feel her being haunted by the what ifs. The whens. As domestic as life had seemingly become, as normal an existence as they had created for the sake of their daughter, there was always the question of when. When would it all be shattered?  
  
The paper sacks he'd carried into the Magic Box were sitting just inside the door. Tara had done as he asked, bringing them here and putting them away. Spike reached inside, pulling out a small package. Rose tissue wrapping tied with a gold ribbon. Nothing spectacular. The good stuff could wait.  
  
He settled down on the bed next to her, catching her attention. The way she looked at him. She had a thousand different looks all captured in two pretty green eyes. This one was worry, fatigue, passion, fear, and love.  
  
"For you," he said quietly, handing her the tidy package.  
  
Buffy looked at him curiously. "Why? What's wrong?"  
  
"It's called a gift," Spike answered, smirking at her. "Don't get your hopes high, Pet. It was your idea."  
  
Buffy carefully untied the ribbon, setting it on the table, and unfolded the tissue. A little pleased gasp escaped her lips as she pulled the straps up, holding the pale pink nightie in front of her. It was beautiful. Simple. Short, but not too short. Little spaghetti straps. Lace in all the right places.  
  
"This for me or for you?" she snarked, raising an eyebrow at him. A talent she'd discovered not long after the psychic lovin' trick.  
  
"Don't think the colour suits me, Love," he shot back. Buffy giggled. "You said we had to look into pajamas. I have the blue ones from the night.. well, no need to rehash old wounds. Anyway, you're the one that thought we needed to wear *clothes* to bed," he babbled.  
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of flannel... with feet," she answered, standing and undressing. She slid the exquisite silk over her head. Spike grabbed the bottom, tugging it over her perfect body as if dressing a living doll. His hands rested on her hips, pulling her to him.  
  
"You look beautiful," Spike said, looking up into her pretty eyes.  
  
"Thank you. I love it," she said softly, her hands clasping over his.  
  
"Much better than footed flannel," he purred, his hands running down the silk, then drifting off to her legs, sliding down to her knees and trailing slowly back up.  
  
"Much," she agreed, leaning her forehead to his. As soon as her head rested, she felt the wave of exhaustion crash into her. Spike pulled her face up with his hand.  
  
"Go to bed," he whispered, pulling her down next to him. "I need a shower."  
  
"Umhum," Buffy muttered, sinking into the sheets and closing her eyes. Spike smiled. He couldn't help but think that two of the most beautiful girls he'd seen were his.  
  
*****  
  
Quentin sat on the old velvet chair, watching, an amused smile on his face. Lenora was in the center of the Eyes of the Fates, surrounded by candles. Her blind eyes were glowing, tearing blood. Sweat poured from the sorceress's brow as she clutched the silver token, chanting, screaming, roaring. Quentin crossed his legs, leaning back, sipping his scotch as if watching Masterpiece Theatre. The sound of Lenora's screaming and chanting was merely a whisper in the breeze.  
  
The haggard witch finally crumpled, the candles all flickering into nothingness. The symbol under her rose from the floor, swirling around her, spinning, then bursting into the air in specks as light as dust. The witch wretched, coughing, clutching at the bare floor.  
  
"Well?" Quentin asked.  
  
"The One is indeed impenetrable. The connection is beyond this plane," Lenora croaked, her voice sounding like footsteps on rotted stairs.  
  
"And the rest?"  
  
"The spell is indiscriminate and transient," she answered, lifting her bloodied face to look at the man. "I cannot crack the wall, but I can put a serpent in Eden."  
  
Quentin smiled. A cracked, wicked smile. "Who is my little snake?" He hissed, leaning forward towards the fallen witch.  
  
"The Star may fall at the hands of one among them, but, Draconius, knowing which is danger."  
  
The anger in Quentin's voice was palpable. "What do you mean, *Witch*?"  
  
"Speak the name of the serpent, *think* the name, and the One will know. The One will quell the uprising. The Chariot will be unleashed upon us. It is best if the serpent lies in the shadows until the moment is upon us."  
  
"Then how will I know who to aid?" Quentin asked, deciding to accept the old woman's ramblings.  
  
"They will know," Lenora croaked.  
  
"When?"  
  
"The Blood Moon," Lenora answered. "Mind you Draconius, if the One discovers the enemy among them, the spell is returned three fold."  
  
"Then it is best that they never find out," Quentin said, standing, smiling.  
  
"Leave me, fiend. And ask no more from the darkness until thee have paid thine debts," Lenora hissed, her eyes glowing red.  
  
"Demon Witch, you cannot frighten me," Quentin responded, pushing a candle with the toe of his shoe and knocking it onto the woman's hand. She hissed against the molten wax poured over her skin.  
  
"It is not me you will pay," Lenora continued, her eyes still piercing, red globes.  
  
Quentin regarded the crumpled form with disgust, then turned on a heel and strolled from the room.  
  
*****  
  
When Buffy awoke again, the world was a peaceful place. Emma was curled in a ball, Buffy curled around her, arms wrapped around the baby's chest. Spike was spooned behind her, an arm and a leg tossed over his girls.  
  
Buffy's eyes fluttered open and she began to swim back to reality. Nine forty-two. Oops. Hope Dawn managed the breakfast thing on her own, she thought. As a senior, Buffy thought Dawn was capable of making her own funny-shaped pancakes, but she usually got up with her sister anyway.  
  
Buffy let her eyes sink closed again as the other two breathed in almost perfect harmony on either side. No need to rush. Just sleep. Yum. Sleep.  
  
The shrill ring of the phone blasted Buffy from the blissful state between mostly awake and one foot in dreamland. She popped up, disentangling herself from the semi human pretzel. Spike grumbled something about 'bloody technology' and pulled Emma into Buffy's spot, pulling her pillow over his head.  
  
"H..hello?"  
  
"Is this Buffy Summers?" A very succinct, professional, woman spoke into the phone.  
  
"Yes," Buffy answered, trying to clear the sleep from her voice. She thought it wasn't worth correcting the woman, even though she had started to change her name on her affairs. For Emma, she justified.  
  
"This is Mrs. Tufts. From the High School?"  
  
"Y..yes," Buffy stuttered. If Dawn cut class, the fangy Vampire lecture was the *least* of her concerns.  
  
"Ms. Summers, there's been an accident."  
  
To be contd... 


	4. Eye of the Fates

Title: Eye of the Fates (Part Four - The Evil Within) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Dawn is caught in an incident at the school. Buffy is called to assist. What they find will change the course of their lives and the lives of those they love.  
  
Eye of the Fates  
  
"An accident?" Buffy repeated, her heart slowly sinking into her stomach. Thoughts of scolding Dawn for skipping class were now far from her mind. An accident, she repeated in her head. An accident. Dawn. The concept tore through her head like a hurricane.  
  
Spike felt a jolt as the words left Buffy's lips. Like his mind split in two, letting Buffy's fear fill him. He tossed the pillow to the floor sitting bolt upright, listening intently as Buffy tried to speak. Emma stirred at his sudden movement, but he stroked her soft, blonde hair, settling her back to sleep.  
  
"At the school," the intense, female voice responded. It was clear as a bell. Not the hastened speech of fear, nor the casual tones of conversation. Crisp. Concise.  
  
"Is.. is Dawn OK?" Buffy stuttered. Spike swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his jeans, changing as he listened to one side of what was a conversation he never hoped to hear.  
  
"Yes, she seems to be alright. But she mentioned that you ... well, you might be able to shed some light on the situation." The voice fluctuated, as if it realized that its tone did not match its intent. Like it was learning as it went.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Could you come by, please?" The woman said in what sounded like quiet desperation. It learned quickly.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Buffy answered. "Sure."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I.. we'll be right there."  
  
*****  
  
"Did she say anything else, Pet?" Spike asked as he drove towards the school. Had to think about upgrading the vehicle. Not that they really ever drove anywhere, but the car seat didn't quite mesh with the deSoto. Even if they had managed to replace the windows.  
  
"No," Buffy answered. "Just that there was some sort of...accident. And that Dawn told her we might be able to make sense of it." She paused for a long moment. "You sure that bringing Emma was a good idea?"  
  
"Couldn't reach Willow and Tara. Even Harris and Anya seem to have buggered off. Can't exactly leave her alone. Safer with us anyway."  
  
"Probably right," she agreed. "I just don't want her..."  
  
"If it's gruesome, Pet, we can leave her with Dawn, alright?" Spike said, reaching over to touch her hand. Immediately, Buffy settled. Her heart still pounded in her chest, but she felt as if she wasn't alone. That was good today. She needed to not be alone.  
  
"OK."  
  
The car slowed, sliding to the curb in front of the school. It looked deserted. They got out, freeing Emma who was still mostly asleep, and headed for the double doors. The doors seemed smaller now, even though Buffy was no bigger Guess fear will do that to you, she thought.  
  
As they walked up the long sidewalk, a voice chimed up from the parking lot to their right. "Hey. Wait up."  
  
Willow trotted up the sidewalk, a look of confusion and concern on her pale features. Tara jogged behind her, with Xander and Anya alighting from his dinged car at the edge of the curb.  
  
"Willow?" Buffy asked, staring oddly at the group before her.  
  
"Buffy...hi," Willow answered "What are you doing here? I mean..."  
  
"The school called me, and ... what are you doing here?" Buffy asked, the strangeness of the situation buzzing the back of her skull. Something wasn't right. Something.  
  
Spike stood silent, watching them trickle up the walk, wondering, trying to fit it together in his head. There was no reason, from what the woman had told Buffy, for them to be here as well. No reason to call the cavalry. There was more to it than they knew. Still, sometimes you cannot know what you're up against until it looks you in the eye.  
  
"They called me out of class and said you.. that they couldn't find you. I... I guess that Dawn listed us as emergency contacts," Willow answered. "I called Tara and we headed down here."  
  
"That's strange," Anya said as she and Xander walked up to the group. "She called the Magic Box as Dawn's place of gainful employment and asked if we knew how to find you," she continued, nodding at Buffy. "She said she couldn't get in touch with her guardian."  
  
"Ahn called me on the site and I thought we'd better come down," Xander added, an arm loosely wrapped around Anya.  
  
"Who is they? Who is she?" Buffy asked.  
  
"I think she said her name was Mrs. Tufts," Willow answered.  
  
"Yes," Anya agreed. "Tufts. Hunh. Funny name."  
  
"Was that the woman that called the house, Pet?" Spike asked, casting an uneasy glance at Buffy.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy answered. "That's what she said."  
  
"We should go find Dawn," Tara interrupted. "The woman said something about an accident."  
  
Spike looked at the doors warily. "Don't think things are quite right here."  
  
"No offense, watcher boy, but don't you think that whatever's wrong is nothing compared to getting to Dawn?" Xander huffed, walking towards the door.  
  
"I'm just saying," Spike began, trying to control his tone, but coming off snarky none the less, "that we should not all follow your lead and be stupid sodding gits. Maybe we need to be a little careful."  
  
"Look, *Spike*, " Xander began, approaching the Vampire, fury flushing his face.  
  
"Xander stop," Buffy said, holding out her hand and pressing it hard to his shoulder. "Spike's right. We need to be cautious. There should be tons of kids here now and there's no one. Not to mention, this Tufts woman didn't need to call us all here, but she did. Do you know why?"  
  
Xander stared at her, blinking. Every day she moved a little further away. Every day the dream that this... thing... with Spike was temporary and just a nightmare became less and less real. He thought he'd got it through his head when Emma was born. But he supposed when you fell head over heels for someone, it never truly went away. "Buff, I." Xander sighed. No energy for this. If he wanted to argue, he could do it at home. "Maybe you're right," he conceded.  
  
"Well, " Spike began. "Think we're about to find out."  
  
*****  
  
"Miss Summers?" That crisp, woman's voice assaulted her as soon as she stepped into the corridor. Mrs. Tufts was a small woman, non-descript. Dark hair, graying around the edges. Dark eyes. Pale skin. She was angular and seemed like someone had drawn her in front of them.  
  
"Buffy," she said, holding out her hand. "This is Sp..illiam." It came out as Buffy Word Salad.  
  
"William," Spike corrected, politely offering his hand. She shook, sending an odd feeling coursing up his arm. Like static electricity. Spike avoided shuddering, as it would not have made much of an impression on Dawn's teacher if he shook like a dog and wiped his palm on his jeans.  
  
"Nice to meet you," the woman said, studying Buffy as she shifted Emma from one hip to the other. " I see you all made it," Mrs. Tufts continued, peering around the couple to the rest of them.  
  
"Yes," Buffy said curtly. "Was there a reason for calling us all? Did you have trouble getting through to me?"  
  
"Better safe than sorry," the woman chimed, piercing Buffy with her dark eyes. There was something unreal about her. Like a cartoon.  
  
"You said that there'd been an accident?" Spike said, trying to avert Mrs. Tuft's gaze from his family. "Where's Ni..Dawn?" Looks like Word Salad is contagious, Buffy thought.  
  
"Right this way," the woman said. For some reason, Spike was reminded of a comedy movie a few years back. Young Frankenstien. Igor saying "Walk this way." He was tempted to hunch over and drag his leg behind the lady before Buffy kicked him in the shin and brought him back to the present.  
  
"Seems pretty empty," Buffy commented as they walked down the corridor. The uneasy feeling was spreading through Spike like wildfire. The scene almost seemed surreal.  
  
"We sent the students home," Mrs. Tuft's answered, stopping at the door to the gymnasium. "It's in there," she muttered, pointing at the door.  
  
"Where is Dawn?" Spike asked again.  
  
"Inside," Mrs. Tufts answered, flatly. Spike's uneasy feeling was growing, multiplying itself by Buffy's.  
  
"Could you ask her to come out first? Rather not take the tot in," Spike asked, nodding at the doors.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing like that. But I'd be happy to watch her, if you'd like," the dark woman said, holding out her arms.  
  
"No!" they both snapped in unison.  
  
"Thank you," Buffy added. "Dawn ... is in there?"  
  
"Yes," Mrs. Tufts said, her arms flopping back to her sides in disappointment.  
  
"You just left her alone in there?" Buffy continued, a look of aggravation mixed with fear crossing her face.  
  
"She said she *wanted* to stay," Mrs. Tufts replied.  
  
"Not a bloody good excuse for leaving her," Spike growled, annoyed with Tufts' incompetence.  
  
The woman shrugged in reply, as if her vocabulary failed her. She stared at them, her gaze fixed on Emma. Spike watched the woman, trying to suss out what it was that was driving him nearly insane about her. He stepped in front of Buffy, blocking Mrs. Tufts' line of sight.  
  
"I'm not sure I understand why you left the girl alone if she's been in some sort of accident," Spike began, his posture, his tone, becoming more aggressive by the moment. Buffy tugged the sleeve of his shirt, turning his attention back to her.  
  
"Let's just get this over with," Buffy said, starting toward the gym. "I just want to get Dawn and go home." Spike glared at the woman, then grabbed the door before Buffy could reach it, swinging it open on its creaking hinges.  
  
*****  
  
It took a moment to review it all. The gym was almost dark. There was just enough light filtering through the windows to make out the odd pattern painted on the floor. Dawn sat on the bottom rung of the bleachers, her head in her hands, staring at the symbol as if she hoped its meaning would pop into her head like the answers on her history test.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy asked, worry in her voice, rushing across the room to the girl. Spike watched her, assuring himself that Dawn was indeed all right, then walked over to the marking on the floor. The rest followed Buffy.  
  
"Everything OK, Dawnie?" Willow asked, brushing the teens from her cheeks and pushing it behind her ear.  
  
"Yeah. Fine. What are you doing here?" Dawn asked, looking at Buffy, but addressing them all.  
  
Buffy looked at her sister strangely. Obviously, the stories had been different for all of them. "Mrs. Tufts, your teacher called and told us that there'd been an accident and you needed us here," Buffy stuttered, shifting the sleepy baby onto the other hip.  
  
"Who's Mrs. Tufts?" Dawn asked, her face contorted with confusion, her head wagging from person to person, trying to follow the conversation and figure out why any of them were standing there.  
  
"From the school. Dark hair, bout this tall," Xander answered, gesturing to a height roughly equal to Buffy's.  
  
"I don't know any Mrs. Tufts," Dawn said, still lost in confusion.  
  
"It's a big school, Dawnie. Maybe she's one of those office administrator types," Tara concluded, smiling reassuringly at the teen.  
  
"Trust me, I've been to the office enough times that..." Dawn stuttered, "...but not lately..."  
  
"And you weren't in an accident?" Buffy asked, furrowing her brow, visually assessing her sister's condition.  
  
"No," Dawn answered simply. "I was in lit class. The teacher got a note and called me to the front of the room and told me that I was needed in the gym. Didn't look like he knew why. Seemed weird, but this is Sunnydale, right, so I went. When I opened the doors, everything got all wonky and it seemed like the world disappeared. I got dizzy so I sat down and that's when I saw the thing on the floor. Then you were here." Dawn finished, babbling in confusion, trying to figure out just what *had* happened in the last half an hour of her life.  
  
"Blood," Spike called, as he knelt at the edge of the symbol.  
  
"Bloody, hunh?" Buffy asked, her face almost frozen in a mask of confusion. Not sure where Spike's comment fit in the reality of the situation.  
  
"No," Spike enunciated, smirking at her. "Blood. The floor? The symbol?" he said, gesturing at the space below him and staring at the lot of them as if they were thick. The remaining six, plus Emma, tentatively walked over, studying the macabre painting on the floor.  
  
It was a deep cherry colour, roughly the size of a smallish car. The design was strange, knotted, almost spiraling through itself. But if you looked at it from exactly the right angel, Buffy noticed, it looked like three eyes at the points of a triangle. It seemed...familiar... in a One sort of creepy way, but the name or the purpose escaped her. Buffy walked to where Spike knelt, letting her knees press against his back. He reached behind him with one hand, stroking her calf, reassuring himself that she was there.  
  
"What kind of blood?" Willow asked, shyly. "I mean, since you are kind of the resident expert." They had spread themselves out in a ring around the pattern, all turning and craning their heads trying to look at it in some way that would make it make sense.  
  
"Human," Spike answered, standing back up. Buffy stayed pressed close against his back.  
  
"There's a lot of blood... for a human," Anya answered.  
  
"Could be several," Spike added, wiping his hands on his jeans and leaning back just enough to feel Buffy pressed against his back. To feel Emma's chubby palm grabbing at his shirt. For some reason, contact seemed essential. Like the world might crack if he could not feel them there.  
  
"Do you know what the symbol means?" Tara asked.  
  
"Looks familiar," Spike commented, "Don't know if I've seen it this go round. You, Pet?"  
  
"Same. Like it's in here someplace, but no idea," Buffy answered, shaking her head, clinging to Emma, pressing to Spike. The same feeling crept through her. They needed to stay close. Their power lay in each other.  
  
"Will?" Xander piped in. "Looks all magic-y."  
  
"It's Celtic," Willow answered, carefully inspecting the symbol. "Definitely magic. Not looking too happyish what with the human sacrifice."  
  
"Well," Buffy said, feeling a wave of uneasiness assault her, creeping like vines twining around her. "I vote for the getting out of Dodge and figuring out the what it is and who dunnits someplace else."  
  
"Think I'm with the Buffster," Xander agreed, pointing at Buffy.  
  
"You're always with the Buffster," Anya shot back, annoyed.  
  
"Wait!" Dawn exclaimed. They all turned their heads toward the teenager from their places around the circle. "Look!" she continued, stepping over the periphery and into the circle of blood. "There's something in the middle. See it. .. shining?"  
  
"Nibs! No!" Spike blurted, stepping forward towards the edge of the mark. Just as his first muscle twitched into action, as Dawn leaned down in the center, something in Buffy snapped and fear shot through her as if someone had just jammed a gun to her temple.  
  
"Spike!" Buffy reached forward with her one free hand and grabbed the back of his jeans, yanking him as hard as she could, knocking herself and Emma off balance in the process. Spike reeled backwards from the force of Buffy's pull and the push of some unseen power forcing him away from the symbol. He stumbled but managed to grab Buffy and break her fall onto the wooden floor. Dawn leaned down and grabbed hold of the shiny object in the center. Four sets of eyes looked with worry over at the heap on the ground, the baby crying quietly, startled awake. The fifth, the hub of the wheel, stood deadly still.  
  
Spike heard a sharp crack, then a bright beam of light shot from the object, consuming Dawn in a sea of white. Buffy jumped up, trying to leave Emma with Spike and rush at her sister, but the same unseen force stopped her in her tracks, repelling her back to the floor. She clapped her hands over Emma's eyes, squinting against the horrible brightness. The glow spread, creeping up Dawn's hands, her arms, her shoulders, her neck. Another loud crack and a primal scream from the younger Summers prompted Spike back into motion. He scrambled to gain purchase on the slippery floor, but the hub turned its head, eyes glowing, knocking him back to the floor a few feet away. Then it turned its gaze on Buffy and Emma.  
  
"No," Spike shouted, clambering on his knees towards Buffy.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy asked, reaching towards him, the shock of what was happening to her sister dampening her senses. Spike grabbed Buffy, pulling her close, sandwiching Emma between them. His forehead touching Buffy's. Their hands clasping together. Buffy felt them shift as if passing through a velvet doorway. The noise faded, as if they had escaped to ether while their shells remained tangled in the floor.  
  
Buffy heard the second scream as if it were a million miles away. She could see Dawn as if through a fog, the teen's hands spread open, mouth agape, spinning in the center of the wheel. The light had consumed her, escaping in beams from her eyes, deflecting off the others until they too were consumed in the sickly harsh light. Their eyes all glowing, all staring at the twirling hub. Buffy turned away, letting herself fall back into Spike, feeling Emma pressed so deep into her that it was almost as if the child was back in her womb. As if the physical had almost melted and they had returned to their natural state. One continuous entity swirling through itself. The sound, the screaming, reached an ear splitting crescendo, even from their perspective, and Buffy buried her head in Spike's shoulder unable to move, even to scream. Spike pressed his hands over her ears, trying to dull the horrible sound. Quell the fear that consumed them both.  
  
Suddenly, it was deadly quiet.  
  
Buffy was lying on the gym floor, Spike covering her. Emma was silent between them. Slowly, Spike craned his head, looking back over his shoulder. He moved carefully from his girls, trying to assess if it was safe. Trying to see what had happened. What they had been saved from and that they had been unable to prevent. What lay before them was more than either of them could bear.  
  
All five lay breathless on the floor.  
  
To be contd. 


	5. The Wolf

Title: The Wolf (The Evil Within - Chapter 5) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: A spell has been cast in the school gymnasium, which has left the SG devastated. Spike and Buffy try to pull them back together. A new face comes in to town, claiming answers to their questions.  
  
The Wolf  
  
Spike stood carefully, lifting Emma to his chest and settling her against him, reaching down to grab Buffy's hand and help her to her feet. The baby was wide-eyed but unscathed, staring towards the circle as if she saw straight through it. Buffy tentatively stepped forward, wanting to race towards her sister, who was lying still, unmoving, in the center of the ring. Still, she was afraid of the force that had blown them back, that had tried to kill them all.  
  
Something. Will. Fate. Spike. Something slowed her movement, allowing her time to think. As Buffy's foot rested one step forward, the symbol on the floor rose, whirling like a centrifuge. Spike grabbed the collar of Buffy's shirt, pulling her back as she turned her head from the wind and the dizzying, twirling, redness. Just as suddenly, the wind ceased and the symbol burst into dust, blown from the site with the force of its own implosion.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy screamed, yanking herself from Spike and running to where her sister lay on the floor. Spike followed, moving as quickly as he could without frightening the already speechless little girl tucked under his arm. Buffy slid to her knees next to Dawn, dread, fear racing through her mind and rendering her nearly helpless. She grabbed Dawn's hand. It was warm.  
  
Spike stooped down next to them, touching the girl's cheek. He could sense her in there. Feel her warmth. Hear her blood rushing through her veins in a whirlwind of power and fear. She was alive but unconscious. "Nibs?" he asked softly, trying to control the onslaught of Buffy's emotions rattling into his head. His hand slid to her neck, in case the old Vampire senses were not as accurate as they once had been. Her pulse was strong, if fast. "Love, she's alive," he whispered, looking over at Buffy's frightened face. "Just had a shock. She'll be alright." The last part he wasn't convinced of himself, but he needed to pull Buffy back together.  
  
Buffy looked at him softly for a moment. "I'll stay with her. Can you check on the others? I don't want to..."  
  
"Yeah," Spike answered quietly. "She'll come round, Buffy. Seen worse, that girl has."  
  
"I know," Buffy answered quietly. "Make sure that the rest are alright.  
  
Spike stood, surveying the scene. They had all fallen exactly the same distance apart. In a perfect circle. It occurred to him, that each was in the quarters. North. South. East. West. Definitely magic. Definitely someone taking a shot at them, he thought.  
  
Tara was the closest of the fallen. East, he thought as he walked towards her, dropping to his knees next to the girl. Emma stirred, but clung to him quietly. Spike could almost feel the little girl's fear in his own mind. Sometimes it was hard to remember that she was only two. That no matter what she had seen as the Peacemaker, what she was seeing now was always new.  
  
"Tara?" Spike said softly, his hand gripping her shoulder. The woman moaned and turned her head, eyes still closed. Spike cringed, shuddering as he saw her face. On her forehead was the glowing shadow of an eye, a dragon coiled around its fringes. It looked like ashes.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy called, her voice laced with concern and confusion.  
  
"You see it, Pet?" Spike asked, craning his head towards her.  
  
"All of them," Buffy answered, her head turning from side to side, surveying the group. Spike pressed his fingers to Tara's neck.  
  
"Alive," he muttered. "Just knocked about."  
  
"What is it?" Buffy asked, tracing the mark on Dawn's head with cautious, gentle fingers.  
  
"Don't know, Pet. But I..."  
  
Suddenly, a bell rang shrilly in the hallway outside. Spike's head whipped around, hearing chattering and stampeding footsteps on the other side of the thick wooden doors. Buffy's brow was furrowed and she felt as if she was shifting imperceptibly from one reality to another. Or maybe one moment to the next. But she felt it in her bones.  
  
"Thinks school's back," Buffy said quietly.  
  
Tara groaned again, opening her eyes as if her lids were weighted with lead. She looked up at Spike, blinking. "Wha...what happened?"  
  
Spike pulled her up so she was sitting on the floor, looking all the world like a startled child. As she awoke, the mark faded from her forehead. "Not quite sure," Spike answered. "You feeling alright?"  
  
"Yeah," Tara answered, looking around the room. "Where's Willow?"  
  
Spike nodded at the girl curled on the floor a few feet away. Tara crawled across the wood as Willow began to swim back to the surface. The Vampire stood, leaving the birds to tend to each other and walked over to the others while Buffy prodded and tried to scold Dawn awake. If tears and gratitude wouldn't work, maybe a little of the old angry guardian routine might rouse her.  
  
Anya was opening her eyes as Spike arrived. Emma still clung to him, one thumb in her mouth; the other wrapped tightly around his neck.  
  
"Spike?" Anya groaned.  
  
"How's your day?" Spike snarked, slyly smiling at her and lending her a hand. She pulled herself up until she looked like a rag doll sitting on the floor.  
  
"Feel like I've had a run in with a bridge troll," Anya answered, rubbing the back of her head. As she spoke, the mark faded into oblivion. "That or a really bad portal jump."  
  
"Best tend to Harris," Spike said, nodding over at Xander who was flat on his back, a stream of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Anya looked at him, a broad grin breaking across her face.  
  
"He's so cute when he's sleeping," Anya chirped, stumbling to her feet.  
  
"Bloody disgusting," Spike muttered, turning back towards the center. Buffy was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Dawn, somewhere between fury and despair. Spike shuddered at the intensity of Buffy's emotion. Her fear coursed through his veins like mercury. Softly, he laid a hand on Buffy's shoulder. She turned, her wet eyes pleading with him to do something.  
  
"Everyone else is awake," Buffy whispered, looking around the room. Spike studied Buffy's face, the way her mouth was set, her eyes so wide and shocked, her pretty cheeks flushed with emotion. Spike loosed Emma's grip around his neck and gently handed her to her mother. He knelt down next to Dawn, his palm resting on the teenager's cheek.  
  
"Nibs?" Spike said quietly, Buffy's worry creeping into his mind, spreading like a storm cloud across the horizon. "C'mon Dawn."  
  
His voice. Dawn heard it somewhere in her drowsy, pounding head. Spike. Spike. What time is it? Should I be at school? What's wrong? Where's Buffy? She could hear them both, but it felt like they were standing on the edge of a pool, talking to her at the bottom. Struggling, Dawn drew together a coherent thought and began to swim to the surface.  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy asked, as the girl's hand flinched in hers.  
  
"C'mon Niblet. Given us a fright," Spike said, his palm on Dawn's cheek, his thumb running over her dewy skin.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn muttered, opening her eyes slowly. Painfully. Buffy's relief came out as a long sigh.  
  
"You alright?" Spike asked, looking down at her confused face.  
  
"I think so," Dawn answered, trying to pull herself onto her elbows. Buffy helped her upright.  
  
"You... you..." Buffy stuttered, not sure if she should throw her arms around her sister and thank anyone who would listen for making sure she was ok, or kill her for picking up the shiny thing, which had since disappeared, in the first place.  
  
"Buffy, are you alright? Emma?" Dawn asked  
  
"Fine," Buffy finally said.  
  
"You're mad. About the silver thing.."  
  
Spike shot a glance at Buffy. Buffy was still debating the embrace and the yelling. "Wasn't a very smart thing to do," Spike answered, pulling the girl to her feet. "We'll square up on that one later, alright?"  
  
"Yeah," Dawn answered, knowing that she was in for a lecture. Spike, she could handle. Buffy, on the other hand, was a whole different kettle of fish.  
  
"Why don't you go outside and get in the car," Buffy said, trying to force her voice to be flat and calm and failing miserably. Relief, fear and anger crept into her tone like weeds in a garden. Dawn knew better than to argue and walked towards the gym doors, swinging them open and stopping in her tracks. The school was packed, bustling, filled with students.  
  
The remainder of the group had trickled up behind her. "Wasn't it.. empty?" Willow asked, staring into the busy hallway.  
  
"Thinking it looked pretty dead when we got here," Xander commented, Anya looking oddly at him.  
  
"We never saw anything dead. The school was dead?" she babbled.  
  
"Dead like... forget it," Xander huffed.  
  
"Guys, why don't you take Dawn and meet us at the Magic Box," Buffy recommended. " I want to track down this Mrs. Tufts woman and let the office know I took Dawn out of school."  
  
"See look, Dawnie. Free day off," Willow chirped, smiling and bumping hips with the teenager.  
  
Dawn took a long look at Buffy's face. "Can I stay?" She asked.  
  
"Go!" Buffy ordered, pointing down the hall.  
  
"Want us to take Emma?" Tara asked, her arms outstretched. "Free you up some." Buffy shot a glance at Spike. He nodded in agreement.  
  
"Sure," Buffy answered, handing over the tot. "Thanks."  
  
Spike watched them file down the hall as if nothing had happened to them. Xander was bringing up the rear, humming and whistling as he strolled down the corridor.  
  
"What is that?" Buffy asked, looking up at Spike.  
  
"The git?" Spike responded.  
  
"What's all the humminess? What's he humming?"  
  
"Don't know why, Love. But I think it's Peter and the Wolf."  
  
"Peter who?"  
  
"Did they teach you *nothing* in this place?" Spike asked, striding down the hallway.  
  
"I didn't even go to school here," Buffy retorted, jogging a few steps to catch up.  
  
"Oh, that's right," Spike said, gasping sarcastically. "This is the one they built after you were through with its predecessor."  
  
"That wasn't my fault!" She was now matching him stride for stride, making their way down the hallway like two seniors in love.  
  
"Sure it wasn't, Pet," he commented, shooting a way too sexy for the present environment smile her way. "You're never any trouble at all."  
  
*****  
  
The door jingled as Buffy burst into the Magic Box, Spike at her heels.  
  
"So, what'd you find out, Buffy?" Tara asked as she played on the floor with Emma and a little plush demon-y looking toy that Emma adored. Only on the Hellmouth. She really still preferred Giles' fuzzy bunny, but Anya wouldn't let it in the store. Again, only in the Hellmouth.  
  
"Well, Mrs. Tufts... not a teacher," Buffy said, walking towards the old, wooden table. The Scooby Inner Sanctum. Emma heard Buffy's voice and spun, clapping wildly and giggling. Buffy grinned, waving down at her and squatting as Emma half toddled, half ran at her mum.  
  
"Told you," Dawn said, smirking. Spike shot her a warning glance, but it was too late.  
  
"I would not talk much," Buffy said flatly. "We still need to chat about touching things that aren't yours." Dawn shrank back into the chair.  
  
"So, no Mrs. Tufts?" Willow asked.  
  
"Nope. No accident. No blood. No... none of it," Buffy said as Emma wriggled and squirmed in her arms.  
  
"What was... all that then?" Anya asked from her perch behind the counter.  
  
"Spell," Spike said, frankly.  
  
"Well, I know *that*," the former demon snarked. "What kind?"  
  
"Hoped you'd have that sussed out by now," Spike responded, looking over at the table and nodding at the seemingly endless pile of books open on its surface.  
  
"We were hoping that you could use your whole One-ness thing," Willow said, shyly smiling. her head peeking out from behind her laptop. "You know, narrow it down?"  
  
"And rob you of the endless pleasure of research?" Spike responded, walking towards the table and settling into a chair next to Willow.  
  
"Well," Buffy began, "while you're working on that... Hey, where's Xander?"  
  
"Don't think he feels very well. He's in the training room. He said he had a headache," Tara answered.  
  
"Wouldn't let me fix it," Anya continued. "Sex always makes him feel better."  
  
"Eww," Dawn remarked.  
  
"Good," Buffy said, smiling over at Dawn. "Eww is right." Spike turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "Well, for her eww is right," Buffy corrected.  
  
"More eeewwww," Dawn said as she watched the heated glance fire between her sister and Spike.  
  
"Thought I told you not to talk," Buffy commented, her eyes never moving from her lover's blue gaze. She could feel him crawling around in her head, touching buttons that should not be pushed in present company.  
  
"Aren't people supposed to stop with the whole 'Hot Love' thing when they have babies?" Dawn asked, looking at her sister with feigned disgust. Actually, she thought it was kind of cool.  
  
"Hot Love?" Spike asked, breaking his contact with Buffy and looking at Dawn with questioning, parental eyes. "Nibs, I think you and your sis need a talk."  
  
"Oh, no," Buffy said sarcastically, watching Spike begin to squirm. "You have endlessly more... experience... in the talking that is..."  
  
"Pet, you *are* going to..."  
  
"So, where's Xander?" Buffy interrupted, heading towards the training room, letting Emma loose as she passed the table. Emma darted towards Spike, clambering up into his lap as if she were a monkey rather than a very pretty little girl. Spike looked awkwardly at Dawn. Willow and Tara were trying to suppress their smiles. Finally, Dawn gave the Vampire an out.  
  
"Spike, had the talk. You can relax now."  
  
Spike's shoulders slumped as Emma situated herself in his lap, her head plunking back into him.  
  
"But you might want to start working on the speech for this little heart breaker," Willow joked, leaning forward to tickle Emma.  
  
"Oh, no!" Spike snapped. "Absolutely no growing up whatsoever. And as for you, Nibs, if I ever catch sight of the bloke who'd try to.."  
  
"Relax already," Dawn whined. "No *bloke* tried anything. Just... go research or something."  
  
"He'll have to pass by me first," Spike slipped in.  
  
"I will *never* have a boyfriend," Dawn sighed, leaning back into the chair.  
  
"Not of the 'Hot Love' variety," Spike responded. "Now hand me the volume on Celtic Mythology."  
  
*****  
  
"Xander?" Buffy asked quietly as she entered the darkened training room. The door clicked shut behind her. She could not make him out in the shadows. "Where are you?"  
  
She saw his outline in the darkness, sitting in a corner, his legs spread out in front of him, staring into nothingness and humming his maddening tune. "Xander?" Buffy asked again.  
  
"Yeah," he answered.  
  
"You alright?" Buffy asked, walking towards him. She watched him flinch from her and roll up into himself.  
  
"Bright lights. Bad headache. Alone time," Xander said, flatly.  
  
"Oh, OK," Buffy responded, her head cocking to try and see him better in the dim light. "Need anything?"  
  
"Nah, out in a few," he answered, flashing a look she could barely make out. His eyes seemed to glimmer and then dart away. Buffy shook her head, trying to clear the vision. Sunlight from the window, she thought.  
  
"See ya then," she whispered, a terrible consuming desire to run creeping up her spine. Buffy walked carefully back to the door, opening it as Spike's hand was grabbing the other side.  
  
"What was *that*?" Spike asked, his body shuddering from foot to head like a dog shaking out his wet coat. Buffy shuddered, a major case of the wiggins crawling across her shoulders. Slowly, she pulled the door shut behind her and shook again.  
  
"Can you say 'weirded out'?" Buffy muttered, heading back towards the table. Spike followed her, the uneasy feeling lingering in his veins.  
  
"What's wrong?" Willow gushed, nervously.  
  
"Dunno... he just seems... dunno," Buffy stuttered, trying hard to ditch the ancy feeling crawling along her spine. Spike was hoping she'd get over at as well as it felt as if she had loosed spiders under his skin.  
  
"Is he OK?" Willow asked.  
  
"Yeah, I mean, I think so. He says he has a headache but he's humming away like one of the dwarves."  
  
"Dwarves don't hum. That's a misnomer. They have very thin lips," Anya contributed. The rest of them shot her an odd glance.  
  
"I dunno," Buffy said again, crossing her arms as if against a chill. "Maybe it's just me."  
  
"No, Pet. Trust it," Spike put his hand on her cheek, feeling the warm flush of her face.  
  
"Not sure what to trust," she answered, her eyes catching his.  
  
"Just be wary," he responded. "There for a reason."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Sort of an early warning system, " Spike answered.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"A feeling," Buffy answered, her eyes still caught in Spike's as if she were drawing reason and strength from him. "Like spiders under your skin."  
  
"Maybe you should take Emma home, Pet," Spike commented, brushing hair from her pretty peach cheeks.  
  
"You think?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Because of Xander?" Anya said, her head cocked in confusion.  
  
"Doubt there's anything to it," Spike said, "but better safe than..."  
  
The door jingled open, interrupting Spike mid-cliche. A man in an overly conservative brown suit stiffly entered with all the stodgy pomp and circumstance he could muster.  
  
"Can I help you?" Anya asked, nearly tripping over herself to reach the customer.  
  
"Why yes," the man answered smiling stiffly, his very formal English accent drifting through the shop. "I am here to see the One."  
  
To be contd. 


	6. Disarming

Title: Disarming (The Evil Within - Chapter 6) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: A new Watcher has come to town bringing news from Giles. But can he be trusted?  
  
Disarming  
  
All eyes were trained upon the stiff man in the drab suit.  
  
"You're here for who?" Buffy asked, cautiously.  
  
The man smiled a quaint little grin. "The One. You must be Buffy Windsor," he said, approaching her, his hand outstretched. The others shot a glance at Buffy, not sure if they should stutter a response to the man's comments or to the fact that she had no quippy comeback for the name. Spike instinctively stepped in front of her, blocking the man's approach.  
  
"What do you want with her, mate?" Spike snarled, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  
  
"And you must be Spike," the man said, softly smiling another smug grin. Emma loosed herself from Dawn and toddled over, clinging to her father's leg shyly and completely undermining his threatening demeanor.  
  
"And *you*," the man continued, lowering himself to his knees, "Must be Miss Emma." Spike reached down, his palm against her little blonde head, and guided her behind him. Buffy snatched her from the floor, scooping the baby into her arms.  
  
"Not a chance," Spike hissed, every nerve charged and waiting to fire.  
  
"I'm so sorry," the gentleman said, standing again and staring meekly at the now startled crew. "My name is Cyrus Banks. I'm from the Council." Again, an elegant hand jutted toward the blond Vampire.  
  
"Fraid that won't buy you a load of salt round here," Spike responded, coldly, ignoring the man's outstretched hand. The man pulled his arm back to his side, reaching instead for his wire-rimmed spectacles and tugging them off.  
  
"Rupert warned me of that," he mentioned, wiping his glasses on his jacket.  
  
"Rupert?" Anya chimed from behind the counter.  
  
"Yes," the man answered, seemingly unfazed by his less than warm welcome. "He's quite... occupied.. with the situation with Quentin. Draconius has indeed arisen. It's not safe for him to contact you. So he sent me to pass along information."  
  
Buffy felt like the man was being honest but didn't particularly want to take the chance. Not with Emma. Not after Gwydion.  
  
"How do we know that you're telling the truth?" Buffy asked, her form still mostly eclipsed by Spike. Every time she moved to come into Cyrus's line of sight, Spike shifted to prevent it.  
  
"You don't," Cyrus responded simply. But Giles did mention information that only he should know."  
  
"Like?" Spike asked, relaxing only enough to listen.  
  
"He said," Cyrus began, staring up at the ceiling as if trying to remember lines of verse. "To ask Emma Joyce about her stuffed rabbit. He also mentioned a conversation with the Vampire on the back porch at sunset on the night Emma was born. Lastly, he told me to ask Buffy about her name." Buffy thought a moment, remembering that changing her name on her affairs had not been discussed with anyone save for Spike. And Giles.  
  
"Not good enough," Spike said, although he had the same feeling as Buffy. This man was telling the truth.  
  
"Well," Cyrus said again, "as only you would know, Quentin intentionally botched the translation of the Prophesy. Only Giles knows the true language, thanks to you. And only Emma knows it all." Spike raised an eyebrow at the man. "But suffice it to say that the two souls rejoined by the eternal kiss, those divided by Draconius and reunited by destiny and will alone, should know when a simple Englishman is lying. I've nothing to hide. No information I need from you. Only that to give. Take it and do what you wish," the Watcher finished, flatly.  
  
Spike stood down, stepping away from Buffy. Tentatively, he extended his hand. "Not convinced, but I'll hear you out." Spike said, succumbing to reason. Cyrus took his hand and shook.  
  
"Thrilled to hear it," Cyrus answered, sarcastically. "Rupert told me you two were difficult."  
  
*****  
  
"It seems that the translation Quentin has provided Rupert, the false prophesy, indicates a demon attack," Cyrus said from his seat at the edge of the table.  
  
"A demon? Needle in a haystack. This is Sunnydale," Buffy snarked.  
  
"What sort?" Spike asked, rummaging through a stack of papers that Cyrus had laid out on the table. Tara and Dawn had taken Emma and gone in search of food. Willow sorted through pages of Celtic designs at the opposite end of the table. Anya flipped through books from her spot behind the counter.  
  
Still no emergence of Xander.  
  
"The exact type is unknown. Keep in mind, this comes from Quentin's prophesy, so the information is most likely false." Cyrus answered, watching Spike's annoyed concern as he whipped through page after page of material.  
  
"Well, what's its purpose then?" Spike asked, giving up on the papers and leaning back in the chair, tipping it onto its rear legs.  
  
"To disarm the One and kill the Peacemaker," Cyrus answered, flatly.  
  
Buffy shuddered. Threats on her, on Spike, were nothing new to her. But hearing Cyrus say with utter lack of concern, that some horrid demon was out to kill her daughter sent a cold chill through her. An empty blackness crawled around behind the chill. It was a thought she couldn't process. She wouldn't process.  
  
Spike stared at Buffy for a moment. The horror behind her pretty eyes struck him instantly. Who did this sodding git think he was to come in here and.... "Not sure who is responsible for manners at the Council," Spike snarled, "and I *am* a Vampire, so I can't really say that I'm a hundred percent on the ability to not be overly blunt at times. But do you think you can refrain from taking about *disarming* us and *butchering* our child as if we weren't people? Or at least mostly people. S'about time that the Council stopped looking at Buffy as their personal plaything and started realizing she's a girl. You're scaring her. I don't like it. " He was trying to control his anger, but by the time he had finished, he was leaning across the table, the Watcher's collar in his fist. Buffy grabbed his hand, shaking her head. Spike backed off, sitting slowly down.  
  
Cyrus looked at the Vampire, a mixture of horror and sympathy on his face. It was as Rupert had said. The Vampire with a heart. He loved the Slayer. Viciously protective of his lot. Mental note, Cyrus thought, let us not anger the Vampire or in any way insult or otherwise cross the Slayer. "My apologies," he said softly, meaning it.  
  
"What do you mean, disarm?" Buffy asked, trying to end the standoff and get back to the subject before anything *could* happen to Emma.  
  
"From what we can tell, the fully rejoined One cannot be broken," Cyrus began.  
  
"But they were once before," Buffy commented, shifting in her seat and watching Spike out of the corner of her eye. He was settling, but she could feel the boil of his blood in her veins.  
  
"Yes," Cyrus answered. "But they were children. They had not been completed. Also, they were destined to their union, as were you, but they were forced by birth to live their destiny. You chose to be joined. You completed the convergence of your own will, therefore the bond is complete. It can never be broken. Not even by one of you."  
  
"Told you you were stuck with me, Pet," Spike snarked, regaining his composure and raising an eyebrow at Buffy.  
  
"It's been so hard," Buffy answered dramatically, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.  
  
"So," Cyrus continued, not sure whether or not to be heart warmed or utterly disgusted by their willingness to accept their fate, "The best that an enemy could do is to disarm the One."  
  
"Back to the 'what do you mean, disarm'?" Buffy said. Spike shook his head. If nothing, his Slayer was blunt. And here he was lecturing the Watcher on manners.  
  
"Inactivate half. Wound it. Capture it. Preferably remove half from the plane."  
  
"Right then. Back to the people skills," Spike snapped. "*It* happens to be two beings sitting in front of you who do not like to be called *it*."  
  
"Right," Cyrus said, beginning to feel ganged up upon. "Again, my apologies. If Quentin, Draconius, were to kill one of you, it would solve nothing. The essence would simply shift wholly to the remaining half. All of the soul, the experience, the strength, intellect, power, of both would inhabit one shell. However, if one of you were to be incapacitated, but left alive..."  
  
"Then the half would stay with them," Buffy completed. "And only half would be left to protect Emma."  
  
"Precisely," Cyrus said, nodding at the Slayer. "And this demon is meant to do exactly that."  
  
"But you said that this was Quentin's information..." Buffy began.  
  
"Correct. More than likely, this is a red herring,"  
  
"Did Rupert give you anything of the correct translation?" Spike asked, again flipping through the documents before him.  
  
Cyrus rustled through the papers, pulling out a stack of handwritten notes. "He did. However, I am afraid they're rather cryptic. As most prophesies are. They make much less sense than Draconius's plan."  
  
"How so?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Well," Cyrus began, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "The translation of the section of the prophesy begins 'The Evil Lies Within'."  
  
"Within?" Buffy asked. "Like Emma is going to get sick or something?" Fear spread through Buffy like wildfire. Spike took her hand, pulling it under his, squeezing it. Stay objective, he thought. Maybe it'll rub off on her.  
  
"It could," Cyrus resumed, "But Rupert seems to think that the text indicates that it will be another person."  
  
"Another person? A human?" Buffy asked, her eyes trained on the Watcher, full of concern and fear and anger.  
  
"Yes," Cyrus answered. "Most likely someone within your sphere of influence. Someone who has been compromised."  
  
"Compromised?" Spike asked, his head cocking as he questioned the stodgy, young man.  
  
"By magic, most likely. Someone you know. That you trust, most likely. Maybe even someone you love."  
  
"Not one of us," Buffy gulped, gesturing at Spike.  
  
"No," Cyrus answered. "Magic of that nature cannot work within the confines of the One. However, it could be almost anyone else."  
  
"Anyone?" Willow asked, peeking her head from behind the blue glow of the laptop.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And this behaviour, the change from ally to enemy, would be as a result of a spell?" Spike asked as the tumblers began to click into place inside his mind.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The school," Buffy muttered, remembering the pattern. "Does this mean anything to you?" she asked, grabbing a drawing Dawn had made of the symbol on the gym floor.  
  
"Yes," Cyrus answered, gasping as he spoke. Hurriedly, he rustled through the papers before him and found an identical drawing that Giles had penned, and placed it on the table next to Dawn's.  
  
"What is it?" Spike asked.  
  
"The Eye of the Fates," Cyrus answered, studying the two sketches.  
  
"Guess my work here is done," Willow commented, closing the laptop and focusing her attention on the conversation on the other end of the table.  
  
"What is it for?" Buffy asked.  
  
"It is the vessel for the spell," Cyrus said. "According to Giles' notes, the 'players' should avoid the eye for it is the harbinger of that which is to come."  
  
"A little late, mate," Spike commented.  
  
"Has someone had contact with the Eye?" Cyrus asked, his eyes growing wide.  
  
"All of us," Spike answered. "Buffy and the mite and I were thrown clear of it, but the rest..."  
  
"So the spell has commenced," Cyrus said, his eyes betraying his fear. His concern. He was supposed to make it here in time. Rupert would be sorely disappointed.  
  
"Well," Buffy began. "Who would it be? Someone standing in a specific spot? What do we do to unspell them."  
  
"That's the rub," Cyrus sighed, taking off his glasses, wiping them on his shirttail.  
  
"The rub?" Spike commented, not liking the term. Not liking anything about this conversation.  
  
"It's a transient spell. It can pass from one to another without any indication, without any of them knowing why or how. Like a ball bouncing on a roulette wheel. Until it is time. And the one infected at that moment is the one who will carry out Draconius's will."  
  
"Try to," Spike snapped, squeezing Buffy's hand again. She was pale, but her face showed resolve. Buffy was amazingly resilient like that, Spike thought. Can push her down, but she gets up that much stronger.  
  
"So, it can be anyone in that circle?" Buffy asked, her resolve strengthening.  
  
"Correct."  
  
Buffy glanced nervously at Willow, Anya. All at once, friends became potential foes. The thought of it made her stomach do a nervous flip. She needed them. They made her strong. Even with Spike, she drew strength from all of them. The thought of what she would have to do if one of them tried to hurt Emma... it was too much to think about.  
  
"Buffy, I would never.." Willow stuttered. Buffy tried to smile, but the attempt only yielded a gentle twitch of her lips.  
  
"Not on purpose, Will, but.." Buffy stuttered. "You know what dark magic can do."  
  
Willow looked down. She'd tried to get past what she had done, but she lived with it every day. In her nightmares. In her mind. Her heart. "Yeah," Willow whispered. "I understand."  
  
"We just have to figure out who has it and how it jumps and keep them from getting at Emma," Buffy commented.  
  
"The jump has a mechanism," Cyrus said, interrupting the strained conversation between the two friends. "It can't just hop from one body to another."  
  
"Great," Spike said, happy to hear that they had a jump on the situation. "What is it?"  
  
"I'm afraid that there, the text became quite ambiguous."  
  
The relief faded quickly in both Spike and Buffy. "So, what now?" Buffy asked, glancing first at Cyrus, then at Spike, hoping to find the answers she didn't have. Unfortunately, the only answer she could find is that no one had one.  
  
The training room door creaked open and Xander stumbled into the room, blinking at the diffused sunlight streaming in through the windows. He looked haggard, tired, but otherwise normal.  
  
"Ahn, I need to go home," he said softly, his hand shielding his eyes from the light.  
  
"I've got the store, honey. Why don't you take a nap in the training room?" Anya answered, walking over to him and resting her hand on his brow. He was cool, but looked as if a truck had hit him.  
  
"I can run you home," Willow chirped, popping up and rushing to his side.  
  
"Thanks," Xander answered. Willow slid his arm over her shoulder, pausing to let Anya kiss him softly.  
  
"Let's get you home," Willow said, smiling up at him and helping him out the door.  
  
"For starters," Cyrus began, as the door jingled shut. "Watch him."  
  
"Xander?" Anya asked, walking over to the table, standing behind a chair and rocking back on her heels. "He's harmless."  
  
"He's the only one acting oddly since the incident at the school," Spike commented, looking softly at the former demon. "Can't hurt to be cautious."  
  
"Right," Buffy agreed. "We'll keep an eye on him. What else?"  
  
"I wouldn't discount Quentin's demon either. If for no other reason than it would be a clever distraction."  
  
"Great," Buffy muttered.  
  
"We'll be all right, Pet," Spike said, turning her face to his with his fingertips. His eyes met hers, melting her.  
  
"I know."  
  
To be contd. 


	7. Pillow Talk

Title: Pillow Talk (The Evil Within - Chapter 7) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Willow takes Xander home and gives her something she won't soon forget. Spike and Buffy go back to the house and try to sort through Cyrus' information, but get sidetracked. Still, they start on a plan to defend their daughter against the evil within.  
  
Pillow Talk  
  
"Thanks for taking me home, Will," Xander said as she helped him through the door of the apartment, kicking it shut behind them.  
  
"Oh, so you do use words?" Willow snarked. "The humminess was giving me the wiggins." She settled Xander on the couch and plopped down next to him. " Do you need anything?"  
  
"Aspirin," Xander sighed, rubbing his temples. "Water."  
  
"Can do." Willow hopped back up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. She heard the humming start again as soon as she walked out of sight. Shaking her head, she opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and rummaged through the drawers for aspirin. "Hate it when I get a tune stuck in my head," she called from the kitchen, trying to distract him from his tune.  
  
"Hunh?"  
  
"Never told anyone this, but this one time, I got 'Oops, I Did it Again' stuck in my head for a *week*." Willow walked back in from the kitchen, settling back down next to him and handing Xander the open bottle of water and three extra strength Tylenol. He grabbed them both, gulping the pills down hungrily. "Talk about embarrassed," Willow continued. " I mean I don't even listen to...."  
  
Before Willow could finish the sentence, Xander grabbed her shoulders, pulling her harshly towards him. His eyes. They were cold and flat. "Xander, what..." she squeaked, caught off guard by his movement.  
  
As the question escaped her throat, his lips pressed hard to hers. Willow stiffened as he closed over her. Tara. Anya. What in...what the.. can't move. A flurry of thoughts blew through her mind. He wasn't hurting her. Actually, he relaxed into a tenderness she remembered. Hello, wrong, she thought. Finally, she wrenched herself away.  
  
"Will?" Xander stuttered, his brow furrowed, staring at her eyes from far too close. "I didn't just... we didn't just.."  
  
"Kiss," Willow answered bluntly. She stood, turning and heading for the door.  
  
"Oh, God. Willow. I'm so sorr.."  
  
"It's alright," she answered, touching the knob with her hand. "Happens."  
  
Xander shook his head, not sure if he should be more confused about what he just did or how she was reacting. "Will, you OK?"  
  
"Need to get back to the shop," she answered. "See ya." Her voice was sing songy. Too chirpy. Slowly she opened the door. Faintly, he could hear her humming. Willow doesn't *hum*, Xander thought. Not since the Brittany Spears incident. Before he could utter another sound, the door clicked shut and left him in silence.  
  
*****  
  
Spike gently laid Emma down in her crib. The girl seemed almost narcoleptic sometimes, Spike thought. One minute, she's racing around the Magic Box on newfound legs with pizza all over her face. The next, she's limp against his chest with pizza all over his shirt. She always managed to let him know when it was time to go home. Baby cleaned up. Shirt off. That's more like it, Spike thought.  
  
The house was quiet. Cyrus had left to check into a hotel. Spike wished he could phone Giles to check out his story, but that was more dangerous than just trusting the sot. He seemed on the up and up. Hadn't asked for anything or prodded them for information. Still, the whole thing seemed... contrived. Now a bloody body hopping spell and possible a dodgy demon in the near future. Time for a nap, he thought, stretching in the sunlit hallway and heading for their bedroom.  
  
That is until he reached the door. Buffy was freshly showered, still glistening from the water and that maddening vanilla lotion. Her hair was a pretty tangle of damp curls. She used to wear it like that from time to time, he thought. Made her look wild. Untamed. Then again, something about her would always be untamed.  
  
"Hey," she said casually, as she straightened the bed. She was padding around the room barefoot in a tank top and little striped panties. Does she have any concept of how breathtaking she is?, he thought. "Emma asleep?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Down for the count," he answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. Does he have any idea how perfect he is? she thought, tracing the contours of his bare chest into her mind. She let her thoughts caress him and he visibly relaxed, his eyes closing momentarily, feeling her.  
  
"Where's everyone else?" Buffy asked, tossing the pillows back into place as she touched his shoulders, his arms, in her mind.  
  
Spike snagged her by the hips as she walked past him. A shot of sheer pleasure exploded through her. God, how does he do that?, Buffy thought.  
  
"Still at the shop," he answered, pulling her a little closer. "Or at their *own* homes:" He nuzzled her ear, smelling her shampoo, her soap, the perfume of her skin. Buffy felt her knees buckling and pressed herself against the bed for support. "They're not here," he purred, letting his lips brush the delicate shell of her earlobe, nipping his way down her neck. To him, every inch of her body was meant to be worshipped from her pretty blonde head to her painted pink toes.  
  
"So, we're alone?" Buffy said as he laid siege on her neck, little nips down her shoulder that send electric shocks to every inch of her skin. "Except for Emma?"  
  
"Who sleeps like her father," Spike whispered, pulling her tight against him, her chest pressing to his.  
  
"And she's out?" Buffy whispered, tentatively.  
  
"Utterly knackered," Spike responded, kissing down her shoulders, her arms, her tiny, soft hands. She smiled, her body melting into him, her heart winding through his. She could say one thing. Since they had been joined, everything about being together was intense. Their talking, their fighting, and especially this. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Every touch was mind blowing.  
  
"So what do you suppose we do in our free time?" Buffy said, slyly smiling and climbing onto his lap. Her soft, coral lips brushed his. She could feel his entire body shudder around her.  
  
"Research," he snarked, returning a painfully gentle kiss.  
  
"Research?" Buffy asked, her hands running lazy trails over his bare back.  
  
"Yes," Spike answered, flipping her effortlessly onto her back. "I was thinking that I could start here," he said, kissing her eyelids shut, "and study everything about you," His fingers ran lazy spirals down her arms as his mind pushed much more intimate buttons.  
  
"In the name of science," Buffy responded, grinning up at him," I'm willing to help in any way I can. But only if you're thorough."  
  
"I am nothing, Pet," Spike purred, kissing her nose, her lips, her chin, "if not thorough."  
  
*****  
  
"Uuummmmm," Buffy hummed, her cheek pressed to his chest. Her arm was draped over his stomach, her leg tossed over his thighs. "Like research. Research good."  
  
Spike chuckled, twisting her hair softly as she spoke. "I would say that that round of ... research... was particularly satisfying."  
  
"If you mean yummy, I agree," Buffy purred, rolling over on her back. As had become customary, all bedding was strewn across the floor, despite the fact that they had managed to stay on the mattress.  
  
"Yummy?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Buffy giggled. The word just sounded odd coming from his mouth. "Yummy," she repeated. "How do you do that?"  
  
"What, Pet?" Spike rolled over and propped himself on his elbow, looking down on her flushed face. She was glowing. Radiant. Softly, he brushed her now dried hair from her face.  
  
"That thing."  
  
"What *thing*?"  
  
"The one that makes my legs stop working?" Buffy sighed, flopping boneless calves against the bed.  
  
"Ancient Chinese Secret," Spike snarked, leaning down and kissing her perfect, taut stomach. Buffy giggled again, feeling utterly relaxed for the first time in days.  
  
"Thought you were English?"  
  
"Doesn't mean a bloke can't *learn*."  
  
"Ah," Buffy said, half hurt, half elated. "Lots of practice."  
  
Spike looked down at her pretty green eyes. "Nothing," he began, "was ever real until you."  
  
All of Buffy's jealousy melted into his crystal blue gaze. He meant it. She knew he did. "I love you. You know that, right?" she asked, letting her fingers slip through his ruffled blond hair.  
  
"I do," he answered. "I do know that."  
  
"Good," she answered, nuzzling in closer to him.  
  
"And of course you know..."  
  
"That you love me?"  
  
"Everything about you."  
  
"Even the bossy, snappy parts?"  
  
"Even those. Although not quite as fond of those as I am, say, the kinder gentler bits. But I love them all the same," Spike answered, kissing her nose. "You know that this is all I ever wanted. "  
  
"What is?"  
  
"For you to love me even half as much as I have loved you. Half as much as I have always loved you," he whispered, stroking her hair.  
  
"Well, you got me," Buffy said softly. "And it's much more than half."  
  
Spike buried his face in her hair. It *was* all he wanted. All he needed. If, in the rest of his days, not one other goodness was granted to him, he could stand at judgement and say he'd died a happy man.  
  
"What are we going to do?" Buffy asked, burying her face in his chest, letting her fingers trace patterns on his skin.  
  
"About what, Love?"  
  
"What Cyrus said?"  
  
"Well, make sure no one is ever alone with Emma. The spell can only effect one body at a time."  
  
"What about the demon? There's going to be a demon," Buffy whispered, resigned to the fact that nothing was every easy.  
  
"Think you're probably right, Pet," Spike answered, resting his chin on the top of her head, still smoothing her long hair down her back.  
  
"So how do you want to do this? You stay, I slay?"  
  
"Don't feel quite right setting you loose with a demon wanting to *disarm* us mucking about," Spike answered, kissing the crown of her head.  
  
"But we don't want to leave Emma alone with anyone that was in the gym," Buffy said, frustration coming out in the quiet sigh of her voice.  
  
"No," Spike said simply.  
  
"There's Cyrus," she said, not really wanting to even consider the option.  
  
"Think he's on the up and up, but don't quite trust him with our little girl," Spike said, letting his fingers trail down her back. She moved impossibly closer.  
  
"I know," she whispered in response. "Clem?"  
  
Spike chuckled. "Not bad. Trust the old boy, but not sure he'd be much on the protecting bit. Can barely fight his way out of a box of Bugles."  
  
Buffy giggled, her breath blowing against his chest. Slowly, the uncomfortable silence settled in. She knew it was coming. They had had the same thought.  
  
"Love, if you want, we can call..."  
  
"I don't want."  
  
"Angel's a good choice," Spike said, despite himself.  
  
"Not liking the way things turned out the last time."  
  
"Thought you'd talked that out after he figured out the bit with Emma?" Spike asked.  
  
"We did," Buffy said simply. She retreated from Spike just enough that he noticed her face was no longer settled against his chest. That her muscles were tight as if her guard went up. "But I just don't want to do that again. Not unless I have to." At least she was still talking, Spike thought.  
  
"Buffy?" Spike asked, easing her face level with his, his fingers pressing against her chin. "Did he... hurt you?"  
  
"No. No, nothing like that. It's just too... awkward," Buffy answered, pulling further away, withdrawing into herself. Spike could feel the void in her wake.  
  
"Do you still... I mean, are you..." Spike stuttered.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, frustrated. Dealing was never going to be her strong suit. She was just getting used to happy.  
  
"Are you still in love with him?" Spike asked, swallowing. Fearing the question. Fearing the answer.  
  
"No," Buffy answered simply. "But I did. Once. And having him around reminds me of ... then."  
  
"Brings back how you felt?" Spike sighed with resignation. Knew I should've never let the Poof back in this house, he thought.  
  
"Would you stop, whiny boy?" Buffy asked, feeling his insecurity in her own blood. "No. It doesn't. Not like that. It reminds me of when things were... harder. When I was alone. And afraid."  
  
Spike was silent for a long moment. Too long, Buffy thought.  
  
"Aren't you going to say something?" she asked, looking back up at him. His jaw was set.  
  
"Still smarting from the whiny boy comment," Spike snarked.  
  
"Ugh, men," Buffy whined, pounding his chest and flopping back against the pillow. "The point *is* that I like it much better now. I finally feel ... not alone."  
  
"You're not, Pet," Spike said, stroking her hair again and settling her back against him. This was good. She was talking. Something it took her a long time to do. Can't be too hard on her, he thought.  
  
"I know. And I like having you around. Well, most of the time."  
  
"See, knew there was a bloody catch. Most of the time," Spike babbled.  
  
"Would you *stop*!" Buffy exclaimed, hopping up onto her knees, straddling his chest. "What more do you need? I tell you I love you. I chase you down in hell. I have your baby. I even change my name..."  
  
"You said that was for Emma," Spike teased  
  
"Right," she answered, blowing her own cover. But only for him. "Same reason I wear the ring on the left. Come off it Spike." She sent a pillow crashing down across his face. "You *know* that I love you. That I'm in love with you."  
  
"Still like hearing you say it," Spike said, raising his eyebrows and prompting another attack of the flying pillow.  
  
"Well, I did. Happy?" Buffy huffed.  
  
"Elated," he purred, grabbing her hands and easing her flush against his chest. He lifted his head from the pillows, letting his lips brush against hers. "I love you always."  
  
"Always?" she asked innocently.  
  
"Every day."  
  
She hummed softly against his lips, drinking him in.  
  
"We'll talk to Cyrus tonight," Spike said softly, his arms wrapping around her bare waist. "Make a plan. Take it from there."  
  
"Ok," Buffy agreed, falling back into the kiss.  
  
"Do a little more research," Spike whispered between kisses.  
  
"The yummy kind?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Musty first, yummy later," Spike responded as her hair fell around his face and he drowned in her once again.  
  
To be contd. 


	8. The Watcher

Title: The Watcher (The Evil Within - Chapter 8) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: The spell has been cast and is now loose among them. Willow and Tara have a private moment, while Xander makes a choice about what to tell Anya about his experience with Willow. Giles discovers part of Quentin's plan. Spike and Buffy are given more information from Cyrus, but what they are told changes Spike's life.  
  
The Watcher  
  
"Willow?" Tara asked as the door to their apartment creaked open. She walked from the kitchen into the entryway just in time to see Willow pulling the door shut behind her. "Willow?" Tara repeated, her brow furrowed in concern. Willow's aura seemed somehow... off.  
  
"Home now," Willow chanted, softly smiling. To Tara, even the smile was wrong. "Got any aspirin?"  
  
"S..sure," Tara stuttered, taking her lover's hand and leading her back to the bathroom. "You OK?"  
  
"A little headachy," Willow responded, a quirky half grin on her face.  
  
"Here," Tara offered her water and two small pills. Willow took them, swallowing them hungrily.  
  
"Do you need to go to the doctor?" Tara asked, rubbing Willow's temples. Willow closed her eyes and began to hum. The tune sounded familiar, but Tara couldn't place where she'd heard it last.  
  
"No, but a nap would be nice," Willow purred, slitting her eyes to look at her love. The humming resumed.  
  
"S..sure," Tara answered, leading Willow to the bedroom. "I was just studying in the other room. I won't disturb you."  
  
"No, baby," Willow whispered in a low tone that was unfamiliar to Tara. The redhead sat on the edge of the bed, tugging Tara to her until her thighs were pressed to Willow's knees. "Lay down with me."  
  
"Will, I have a test tomorrow," Tara whispered, smiling serenely. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted to be that close to Willow right now. Willow grinned up at her like the Cheshire Cat, tugging Tara ever closer, pressing her lips softly to her sweet girl's. Tara whimpered as the kiss intensified and Willow's hand cupped behind her neck. Then a pinch and a rush of air. Suddenly, the tenderness with which they had both become familiar crept back to them as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.  
  
"I'll come to bed with you," Tara said slyly. Willow blinked, her brow furrowing, a resounding 'Hunh?' thudding in her mind. But Tara was persistent and Willow discovered that she was not really of a mind to resist.  
  
*****  
  
"Ahn, is Willow here?" Xander shouted, bursting into the shop with a jingle. Dawn stood by the shelves, unloading candles into a display case.  
  
"Hi, Xander," Dawn chirped. Xander managed a half-hearted wave as he sped towards the back of the store. The teen shrugged it off, mumbling her relative unimportance, and resumed candle stacking.  
  
"Ahn!"  
  
"What?" Anya shouted, a little frustrated, as she appeared from under the counter.  
  
"Where's Willow?"  
  
"She's with you," Anya remarked. "And you're sick."  
  
"She's not and I'm not," Xander snapped in response.  
  
"Oh," Anya replied with a little shake of the head. "Well, glad you're feeling better."  
  
"Have you seen Willow?" Xander repeated, grabbing Anya's hand and staring at her in a quiet sort of urgency.  
  
"No, she never came back here," Anya responded. "Why? What's wrong?"  
  
Xander thought about it. One minute he'd been in the gym. The next, he was on his couch kissing Willow. Not just kissing her but *kissing* her. "Something's happened..."  
  
""What?" she replied, her face becoming gentle with concern. "Are you OK?" Her pretty hands traced his flushed face as gently as a child's. Xander stared at her intently. Her pretty eyes were flickering back and forth in his gaze, waiting for an answer. They'd come so far since the wedding fiasco. She'd never understand. Or would she? I hate decisions, Xander thought.  
  
"I'm...I'm fine," Xander finally answered, squeezing her hand softly. "It's just something strange happened when Willow took me home."  
  
"Well, what?" Anya crossed her arms, but her eyes still betrayed her concern, her need. Dawn scooted in closer under the guise of having to put candles on a display rack a bit closer to the counter.  
  
Xander was trapped between truth and consequences. Either way, she'd end up hurt. "She seemed to, um, catch, whatever was wrong with me. And then she took off."  
  
"Headaches aren't contagious, Xander."  
  
"I don't know," he huffed in frustration. "But one minutes I felt... weird. The next I was fine and she was giving me the wiggins."  
  
"Well, what happened in between?" Anya the pragmatist asked, adding a foot tap to her arm cross.  
  
"I ... I don't know," Xander answered, making his choice. Consequences it will be, Harris, he thought, almost hearing Spike say it inside his head. "I don't remember."  
  
*****  
  
Giles stood in the shadow of the grand staircase as Quentin stormed from the room behind the bookcase. It had been Quentin's assumption that Giles was either inattentive or that he was trustworthy. In any case, he had made no effort to hide the more covert rooms of his palatial museum from his protege. As Quentin exited, the bookcase clicked flush with the wall. Giles stepped further into the shadows as Quentin stormed past towards his study and, no doubt, his bottle of triple malt. As footsteps pounded away, Giles made his move and crept toward the library.  
  
A horrid wheezing emanated from behind the case. As if the wall itself was struggling to breathe. It sounded like a storm door creaking to and fro in the moments before a tornado. The Watcher pressed his ear to the wall, listening. Waiting. The sound of Quentin's study door slamming shut echoed in the empty house. Giles took a deep breath, gathering courage and splayed his hand across the wooden panel as he had seen Quentin do so many times before. What was behind the wall was of ultimate import, Giles thought. Despite better judgement, he knew it was where he needed to be.  
  
The bookcase popped ajar with a click reminiscent of gunfire in the utter silence of the mansion.  
  
The corridor was stone. Dark. Dank. Unlit, save for several mostly extinguished torches along the walls. It was cold. Like death. The decay of the underworld permeated the air, wafting into Giles' nostrils. He half expected a rotting corpse to topple from a niche in the wall as it might have in one of those B rated horror videos that Dawn had insisted on torturing him with. Alas, no corpse. Only the stench of decomposition, the acrid taste of evil.  
  
At the end of the first tunnel, a branch of three came into view. The cavern to his left was blackened and seemed to be a dead end, although, Giles thought, it was hard to tell what lay behind it's mouth in the inky blackness. The opening to his right was well lit, as if an archeological dig was underway in the depths of Hell. The center cavern was dim, but lit by a black candle on each side of its entrance. The rise and fall of wheezing breath lay behind its darkened doorway.  
  
Giles's nerves fired, sending alarms to every synapse, every inch of him that would listen. But his mind gathered his resolve. Closing his eyes and swallowing his fear, Giles stepped into the jaws of death.  
  
*****  
  
"Alright. So how real do you think Quentin's demon is?" Buffy asked, leaning back into the couch, her legs folded neatly under her. Spike sat on the floor in front of her, legs splayed out. Emma was using him for a jungle gym, climbing over him, around his shoulders, shimmying down his chest and rolling off the side.  
  
Cyrus sat, studying the situation. The Slayer and The Vampire. He could not wrap his mind around the concept. No one had seen this coming. Prophesy or no. Of course, the Council had expected this occurrence one day, but they had expected some tragic love story with a decidedly unhappy ending involving the reuniting of souls, the horrible death of both halves, and an orphaned child who would save the world after being raised by a pack of wolves, or some such horror. Not one of them had expected Seventh Heaven, only with quite a bit more sex and violence. Oh, and of course demons.  
  
"Very real," Cyrus answered, his own meandering thoughts returning him to the question at hand. Rupert had tried to prepare him for this, but seeing the Slayer at home with her Vampire lover and her miracle baby seemed, well even in Council terms, odd.  
  
"Still no idea as to the sort?" Spike asked, tickling Emma until she melted into a giggling heap across his legs.  
  
"Well, as it really *isn't* part of the Prophesy, there is no way to tell."  
  
"Guesses?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Something strong. Powerful enough or well enough equipped to take on at least half of the One despite your heightened abilities. Smart enough not to kill you, given the opportunity."  
  
"That should narrow it," Spike quipped.  
  
"So what's the plan then?" Buffy asked, shifting her legs to the opposite side and tucking them back underneath her like a colt. She sipped at a steaming cup of tea, blowing steam from the top as she drank. Another One thing. Cravings for tea and flower shaped onion things.  
  
"As far as?" Cyrus answered.  
  
"Protecting Emma and not getting... disarmed?" Buffy responded, trying to remain patient. This was not Giles. He did not have the answers and he didn't make her feel any better either.  
  
"Well," Cyrus breathed, removing his glasses. Buffy prepared herself for the perennial Watcher wipe, but instead, he set them on the coffee table. "I don't suggest separating the two of you. At least not in combat."  
  
"But that leaves Emma," Buffy said, her nerves beginning to fray. "And everyone we know, that we trust, was in the gym. They all can be effected by this spell."  
  
"Until we suss out the mechanism, don't like the idea of leaving her with any of them," Spike snarled, then picked up Emma and lifted her over his head, letting her fly above them as if he'd never said anything at all.  
  
"There is me," Cyrus pointed out.  
  
Buffy studied the man for a moment. "Not trusty with the Watchers," she commented. "Except Giles. Nothing personal."  
  
"I understand," Cyrus replied. Earning their trust would be something a long time in coming. Another thing Rupert had warned him about. "I was told about Gwydion."  
  
At the sound of the name, Spike's head spun, the Watcher now garnering his full attention. He scooted Emma onto the couch where she settled in next to her mum, playing with her beloved bunny.  
  
"What do you know of Gwydion?" Spike said calmly, but Buffy could feel the torrent under the surface.  
  
"Rupert told me of the attack," Cyrus answered, looking at Spike but having to turn away. He could not process the tortured look on the Vampire's face. " I know he was..."  
  
"Was what?" Spike snapped. Buffy leaned down, putting her hand on Spike's shoulder. He closed his eyes, feeling her there. Trying to settle enough to listen.  
  
"I know he was once Henry Windsor. Proprietor and collector of rare antiquities. I know he was your father," Cyrus said tentatively. "But did you know, William, that he was also a Watcher?"  
  
To be contd. 


	9. Fathers

Title: Fathers (The Evil Within - Chapter 9) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Giles discovers Quentin's secret behind the walls of the mansion. Cyrus delivers news to Spike that he never expected.  
  
Fathers  
  
The cavern opening widened into a vast expanse of darkness. The odor of decay assaulted Giles, choking him in a musty haze of stench. Slime covered walls slid under his fingertips as he skimmed along the edge of the cave, heading for the tiny oasis of light that seemed to be emanating from the wall itself. Must be an illusion, Giles thought. Or fear playing tricks on my mind.  
  
The idea that he should flee immediately had not escaped him, particularly as long wisps of smoke wafted past his head. The smell was a mixture of ammonia, sewage, and burning flesh. No supper tonight, Giles chuckled to himself. Making jokes at times of crisis. Maybe he had picked up a thing or two from Buffy after all.  
  
"At least I should go back for a torch," Giles muttered to no one in particular as he slowly began to turn on the heel of his loafer and work his way back through the darkness to the door. He wasn't sure what had drawn him this far into the oblivion without light. He couldn't blame it on the quaint sound of wheezing or the aromatic bliss of rotting flesh.  
  
As he took his first step toward the entrance, a scuffling on the floor stopped him in his tracks. "Watcher..." a voice hissed into his right ear. "Leaving so soon?" Into his left.  
  
"Who... who are you?" Giles stuttered, stock still in the darkness.  
  
"Your enemy," the voice spat from right in front of his face. It was a vaguely feminine sound, but more reptilian than human.  
  
"Why?" Giles choked, at a loss for coherent thought, the smell of decay now right under his nose. The thought that he was completely blind was beginning to be of comfort to the Watcher.  
  
"You are the Slayer's guardian." It was behind him now, echoing through the inky blackness. "Buffy," it hissed in disgust.  
  
"Y...yes," Giles answered, his hands clenched in fear, his mind racing to fathom a way out.  
  
"You enabled her to survive." It spun around him, slithering in lazy circles.  
  
"She'd likely have survived on her own."  
  
"No. Were it not for you and he of the heart, she would have perished," it said with an eerie certainty. "Had she died as she should have, the Peacemaker could never have entered this dimension."  
  
Giles was silent for a long moment. "What is it you want from me?"  
  
"I have not quite decided yet," it answered, constantly moving around him, never quite touching, but close enough that Giles could feel the clammy coldness of its skin. "You were there at the First, Watcher," it hissed.  
  
"Pardon?" Giles questioned, forgetting he need not be polite to a hell beastie deciding his fate.  
  
"When Draconius rose the first, when the One was conceived and the divergence began," It was almost sing songy now. The sound was more frightening than the hissing spits of a moment past. It seemed to enjoy its own words more than the story.  
  
"How?" Giles gasped, feeling cold tendrils of flesh slide along his neck like snakes.  
  
"You were the seed. The Father."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The One has always been mortal. At the first, it was a child. A seed split by the powers in the womb of the Mother. Sharing one essence in two bodies. Yours was the seed that brought them life."  
  
"That's not... that's not possible," Giles stuttered in response.  
  
The creature grunted, chortling into the darkness. "Watcher, you should know by now that everything is possible. Draconius has arisen. The One has rejoined. The Peacemaker given form. It is only natural that you be invited to the affair."  
  
"Why? For what purpose?" Giles asked, completely flabbergasted by the creature's tale.  
  
"Twice you have done a great disservice to my kind," it answered, still circling him slowly.  
  
"Your kind?"  
  
"Evil," it answered, simply. Giles could almost hear the rattle as it moved. The sound of a thousand locusts fluttering into the darkness. "At the First, yours was the seed that created the One. And now, you have allowed for its survival. Its reunification." It paused, sliding slowly around the Watcher, letting its raspy horrid breath blow against his cheek. "We can no longer kill the One. It is a force too powerful for our kind. But in retribution, your penance for giving them life, providing them the means to survive, you will take their seed. Their *reason* for existence."  
  
"Emma," Giles said softly.  
  
"You will slay the Star, or be slain."  
  
Giles was silent. He tried to collect his thoughts, formulate a plan, but all he could envision was Buffy curled on the couch, napping, Emma tucked between her chest and her legs. The silly pink bunny in the baby's arms, its fuzzy ears tickling her tiny nose.  
  
The Watcher stood straight, breathing deeply, his hands falling to his sides in submission. "Then I am ready to die."  
  
*****  
  
Buffy was silent watching Spike watching Cyrus. Even Emma had grown still, feeling the air thick with the tension of a million unasked questions and as many unsatisfactory answers.  
  
Spike was deathly quiet, staring at the Watcher with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. His head tilted, his eyes wide and almost sad. So, even before his disappearance, there had been secrets, Spike thought. Even then, the Council had their hooks in us. In me.  
  
Finally, it was Buffy who broke the awkward silence. "Gwydion was a Watcher?" she asked, hoisting Emma into her lap and hugging the child to her chest. Spike's gaze had drifted across the room, studying the walls, the carpeting, anything but their faces. The Watchers, barring Rupert, had a long tradition of attempting to kill him; not to mention had done a bloody good job of mucking up Buffy's life. Neither of which ranked them high on his personal scale of people to trust.  
  
"Gwydion was not," Cyrus answered carefully, sensing the hair trigger on the Vampire who sat a mere six feet away. "But Henry Windsor was."  
  
Still, Spike was silent. Buffy looked at him, letting her mind reach out to his, feeling the thoughts whirl in his brain at a dangerous clip. "How?" Buffy asked. "I mean, most Watchers don't have wives. Families."  
  
Spike closed his eyes at the sound of the word. Once before he'd had a family. One not tied to blood and chaos. Even that, it seemed, had been a lie.  
  
"Actually," Cyrus countered, still speaking in cautious words and tentative tones, "Many do. Not every Watcher has a Slayer. Not ever Watcher lives the life of a hermit. Many are... consultants. Those who are born into the calling, but serve more of a contractual function."  
  
"And that's what Gwyd... Mr. Windsor... did for the Council?" Buffy asked  
  
"Yes," the Watcher answered. "He was the world's premier expert on ancient languages as well as..."  
  
"Mythology," Spike said quietly. "Greek, Roman, Celtic, Norse. 'Specially Egyptian." Spike's words were so soft, almost if he was struggling to remember his father at all. If he had to think about the man, he had to conceive of killing the monster he had become.  
  
"Yes," Cyrus said, just as softly. "He translated and encrypted mostly. Identified artifacts. His business was..."  
  
"A front," Spike interrupted, his eyes falling closed again. So many of his memories snapped into focus and then shattered like glass in front of him. His human existence, the only real humanity he had known, was not even what it seemed to be.  
  
"No more that Rupert acting as a librarian was a front. It was his business. Henry just happened to have a more pressing calling."  
  
"So what... what happened?" Buffy asked. "I mean, do you know?" Emma struggled away from her mother, drawn almost instinctively to the sorrow she felt in her father. The baby crawled across the couch, climbing carefully to the floor and sitting quietly down next to Spike. Her hip pressed to his. Spike looked down at the little girl, letting his arm fall from the couch and wrap around her, tucking her small body against his. She looked up at him with her enormous blue eyes, blinking steadily, blonde eyelashes flickering over her creamy golden skin. Buffy studied them, suddenly feeling strangely settled. It occurred to her that Emma was grounding him. Centering him. What was even more amazing, she thought as she watched the little girl, was that the baby knew exactly what she was doing.  
  
Cyrus was taken aback by the sight. In reality, it was a simple scene. Small child staring up lovingly at her father. Father enraptured by his own blood. There was more to it. The child was calming him from the inside, her mind, her eyes, granting him solace from his thoughts. The Peacemaker was thought to have many skills with which to aid her in her quest, however, watching the toddler consciously handle power was truly mind-boggling.  
  
It was a long time before Spike looked away, as if he'd lost a staring contest. He glanced up at Buffy, almost as if he needed to assure himself of her presence, then slowly back to Cyrus. "Do you know?" he asked, an eerie calm in his voice.  
  
"Know? I'm sorry," Cyrus answered, trying to shake himself clear of the awe that had overcome him and remember where the words had stopped and Emma had began.  
  
"What happened? To my father?" Spike repeated, sounding like a child asking for the end of a story.  
  
"Vaguely," Cyrus responded, looking at his knees, picking up his glasses, fidgeting. Folding and unfolding the arms against the frame in an endless maze of movement.  
  
"I'd like to know. Like to hear it," Spike said, still staring at the Watcher. "Need to."  
  
Cyrus was unsure of whether or not he should go on. The child was now leaned against her father, her head plunked to his ribs. He stroked her hair as she rested quietly, as if exhausted by the trip through her father's emotions. Cyrus watched her, then Spike, then looked over at Buffy. She was still curled on the couch, only now the gesture seemed less coltish and more protective. Like a snake coiled and ready to strike. Slowly, she nodded her head for the Watcher to continue.  
  
"Henry had been asked by the Council to travel to Africa to recover a scroll that we thought important. The exact nature of this scroll is information to which I have not been privy. Normally, he was not sent on missions because of ... because of his family. Not to mention, he was rather more an academic than an explorer."  
  
"He traveled extensively," Spike interrupted, his tone more questioning than argumentative.  
  
"Quite true," Cyrus replied, "but normally his travel was to study artifacts already recovered or to translate text that could not be moved either for its fragile nature or bulk. Rarely was he called upon to actually recover an item. Retrieve it from what some may consider mystical, if not simply dangerous, settings. However, in this instance, he was called upon to do so."  
  
"But he didn't make it?" Buffy asked quietly.  
  
"No," Cyrus answered. "From what I know, the scrolls in question must have had to do with Vampirism, although it is possible that it had to do with the convergence or even the Peacemaker in hindsight. It's not something commonly talked about among the Council."  
  
"And its imminent discovery upset a demon or two," Spike contributed.  
  
"My theory," Cyrus agreed. "The night before he was meant to leave, he locked his shop and headed down the alley way."  
  
"The alley? Why?" Spike asked. "We lived two blocks down. All on the main road."  
  
Cyrus smiled softly at the Vampire. "It seems that being a fool for love was somewhat of a family trait, William," the Watcher answered kindly. "It looked as if he was headed to the florist to buy your mum daisies. At least that was what his assistant told the Council."  
  
"Basil," Spike sighed, suddenly remembering the ruddy young man who had run his father's business when he had been away. A kind sort, not terribly much older than William at that time, but eminently responsible and always full of good stories.  
  
"Yes," Cyrus confirmed. "Apparently, it was on the way to the flower shop, in the alley, that he met a creature unhappy with the Council's plans. And so was born Gwydion."  
  
"Why turn him? Why didn't they just..." Buffy began, swallowing the end of her thought.  
  
"My guess? Knowledge. Henry Windsor was extremely intelligent in matters of some import to the underworld. They wanted his mind, but they also wanted control of it."  
  
"They?" Spike asked, still calm, as if entranced by his drowsy daughter.  
  
"Those that turned him. *He that turned your father."  
  
"Well, if you bloody well know, come out with it," Spike snapped, the tension creeping back. Emma shifted against him and he settled, this time simply to keep from upsetting the tot.  
  
"Aurelius," Cyrus answered, cautiously.  
  
"As in 'The Order of'?" Buffy asked. "What, does every vamp I know owe their unlife to the guy?"  
  
"Aurelius himself," Cyrus replied. "He who sired the master. Darla's grandsire. Angel's. Drusilla. Spike." The last word dropped into silence like a marble striking a wooden floor then trailing along its grain.  
  
The silence seemed endless. "How do you know?" Spike finally asked, looking at Cyrus from behind tired and overwrought eyes.  
  
"Aurelius made a point of letting the Council know of his conquest. Henry was not only very valuable to the Council, but also well liked. In the days when those who were called to its service held loyalties to their own," Cyrus answered, ruefully. "Once, we were of a mission. An alliance against that which Quentin Travers is trying to recreate today. Henry was important then. To the Council. To his family. We knew straight away what had happened, but no one could find a way to... how do you explain to a grieving wife and two teenaged children to whom the mysteries of darkness are horror stories and nothing more? Emma, the first Emma, loved him so. How do you explain...?" The Watcher seemed on the verge of tears himself. Buffy studied him, seeing something she was not sure she understood.  
  
"You were there, weren't you?" She asked quietly, leaning forward, her elbows pressing to her knees. Spike looked at her, his eyes questioning, trying to follow her thoughts. "You knew him."  
  
"Yes," Cyrus answered simply.  
  
"How?" Spike asked, his head tilted, brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
"Not every immortal is cursed. Although it often feels that way."  
  
A squeal from outside the front door, along with heavy footsteps and low mumbles shook them from their intense conversation. Buffy was on her feet in a split second, racing at the door, Spike at her heels. He had managed to set the heavy-eyed little girl on the couch as he rose. Cyrus watched her pretty head sink into the cushions, her eyes flickering like beautiful blue flame from behind falling lids.  
  
Buffy glanced back at Spike, her hand resting on the knob. He nodded, staring straight ahead, his legs bent, hands in front of him, ears tuned on the ruckus outside the door. Buffy nodded back at him, turning her attention back to the bronzed knob. Her hand closed over it, and she tossed open the front door, jumping back out of its path.  
  
Everything froze as she processed the scene in front of her. Spike let out a breath that grazed the back of her neck.  
  
"Oh my God!" Buffy gasped in horror, "What is that?"  
  
To be contd. 


	10. Pony

Title: Pony (The Evil Within - Chapter 10) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy is horrified by what she finds right in front of her front door. Giles is confronted by Draconius' plans. Xander thinks figures out what happened to him and what might happen next, but in the process, hurts Anya more than he knows.  
  
Pony  
  
Spike couldn't help but chuckle, tension escaping through the simple relief of laughter. Buffy stood in front of him, frozen in place, eyes as wide as saucers. She felt Spike's hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, his breath blowing against her cheek.  
  
"Again, I ask, what is that?" Buffy snarked.  
  
"Hi," Clem said, waving with his free hand. In his other, a nylon leash connected him to the large and furry neck of a creature who was currently occupied licking Dawn's face. It's enormous pink tongue lapped Dawn's skin as the teen giggled wildly.  
  
"H'lo Clem. See you did as I asked," Spike said, still speaking from over Buffy's shoulder.  
  
"Sure nuff, Spike," Clem answered, smiling. He was always smiling. Dawn was cross legged on the welcome mat, trying to defend herself half heartedly from the onslaught on slobber. Anya stood to the side, staring at the creature with a mixture of amusment and disgust.  
  
"Is that a pony?" Buffy asked. The dog looked young, but was already the size of a full grown lab, its paws as big as soup plates.  
  
"It's a puppy, love," Spike answered, brushing her hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek.  
  
"Puppy?" she exclaimed, craning her head back to look at him. "It's going to get bigger?"  
  
"Quite a bit, Buffy," Clem answered happily. "Only 10 weeks old."  
  
"Spike! What did you do?" Buffy spun around and stared at him in shocked surprise.  
  
"Slayer can't exactly run round with a toy poodle," the Vampire answered, smiling softly.  
  
"True. She's already got one lap dog," Anya remarked, raising her eyebrows at Spike. Spike smirked at the former demon over the top of Buffy's head.  
  
"So... you got a... Yeti?" Buffy argued, turning back to look at the gigantic dog. Dawn was still giggling gleefully, scratching the pooch behind the ears and rubbing her face in its fur.  
  
"It's a Bull Mastiff," Spike corrected. "Looks fierce, but gentle as a lamb, Pet."  
  
"Spike, if it steps on Emma, we won't find her for a week."  
  
"Buffy, I checked it out. Wonderful with tots," he retorted, trying to settle her. "You agreed we should get them a dog," he reminded.  
  
"But... I thought... I thought you meant a cocker spaniel or one of those mini dogs..."  
  
"What kind of image would that be?" Spike huffed, puffing into his remotest big badness. "Vampire. Slayer. Key. Peacemaker. Trotting bout town with a sodding teacup Yorkie. Ooh, a threat!"  
  
"So you get a horse?"  
  
"I like him, Buffy," Dawn squealed. "It is a him, right?" The girl craned her head and glanced underneath the dog. Clem nodded at her. "Yeah, he's a he," she said quite seriously.  
  
"Quite enough women in this house," Spike commented.  
  
"Speaking of *in*," Anya said, gesturing at the door. Buffy moved to the side, still wide eyed, Spike's arms wrapped around her waist. The entourage moved into the house, Clem being pulled behind the rambunctious pup. Spike reached down and patted it's huge head as it trotted past.  
  
"See, Pet, gentle as a lamb."  
  
"We *will* talk about this," Buffy remarked as the dog scampered into the living room, throw rugs curling under its wake, a torch lamp tipping as it tore through the living room. Clem caught the lamp, righting it and setting it behind the end table. The demon shot a sheepish grin at Buffy.  
  
"Nice dog, Buffy," he said, nodding his head approvingly.  
  
The dog darted for the couch. Emma sprung awake, staring at the foreign creature in shock as it bounded towards her at break neck speed. Buffy lurched forward trying to grab the baby, but the dog skidded to a halt, sitting obediently at the foot of the couch. Emma leaned forward wondrously, staring into the puppy's happy wide eyes, her lips parting into a grin.  
  
"Think she likes him," Spike whispered encouragingly into Buffy's ear. Buffy shh'd him like a child. The giant puppy sat completely still save for the thumping of it's tail on the floor. It sniffed the baby softly, hearing her giggle as it's nose touched her cheek.  
  
Buffy lurched forward again as the dog's mouth opened, but stopped short as a slow, purring growl came from its mouth. The puppy was calm, but the sound was like nothing they'd ever heard. Completely non-threatening, but a growl none the less. As Buffy's hand reached Emma, the child's lips parted and it repeated the sound the dog made exactly.  
  
Buffy glanced back at Spike. He stared at the scene, brow furrowed, much as the rest of the group. The dog again opened it's mouth, letting out a short, deep bark. Emma stared at him, her head tilting as she studied its kind face. Suddenly, her mouth opened, copying the sound but an octave higher. The dog stared up at her, then lowered its head to the cushions in a gesture that Spike could only describe as supplication.  
  
"Did Em just..." Dawn began.  
  
"Talk to the dog?" Anya finished.  
  
"No," Buffy answered, not quite sure what to believe himself. "Of course not." She was shaking her head, staring at the still puppy and the delighted child who was now tugging on the dog's ears like a normal two year old.  
  
"Think she might've," Spike commented, his head cocked to the side, staring at the little girl as if she were magical. In a way, she was.  
  
"She has the ability," Cyrus said quietly, uttering his first words since the ruckus on the porch cut short their conversation.  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, still dazed, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
"The Peacemaker does, I should say. How can one be expected to bring peace to all dimensions unless one speaks all languages?" Cyrus pointed out. Seems obvious enough, Spike thought, but he'd never really sussed the whole thing out. She was his daughter, not a Chosen One.  
  
"*Dog* is not a language," Buffy argued.  
  
"To you, maybe not. But they do communicate. Emma just seems to be able to converse with them in their native tongue."  
  
"So, she's Dr. Dolittle?" Dawn asked, caught between alarm and amusement.  
  
"In a sense," Cyrus replied, turning his attention to the teenager. "Except the language she hears, she understands instinctively. The dog did not speak and Emma translate its voice into English in order to understand."  
  
"She thinks in dog too?" Anya asked, her head moving from child to dog, to parents, to Watcher.  
  
"In any language. In *every* language."  
  
"How come you didn't tell us about that part of the Prophesy?" Buffy asked, her annoyance with the entire evening rising.  
  
"Seemed common sense," Cyrus responded. "No offense." It never occured to the Watcher that his words could be harsh. Maybe the Vampire was correct in that he needed to brush up on his people skills.  
  
The room was silent. Emma had gone back to her normal, playful, toddler self and was hanging off the puppy's neck as it licked her arms and hands. "Wow," Clem muttered, nodding at the little girl and turning his head towards Spike and Buffy. "Neat little girl you have there."  
  
"You can say that again," Dawn sighed, patting the dog's head as Emma used him for a jungle gym.  
  
"Wow what?" Tara asked as she glided through the doorway, Willow hanging onto her hand.  
  
"Wow, that's a big doggie!" Willow bubbled, walking into the living room. The dog's head spun, looking at the two women. Instinctively, the pup pinned it's ears; a gesture that went unnoticed, as it sat obiently at Emma's dangling feet. The baby clamboured down the dog's back and onto the floor, toddling off towards the kitchen. Dawn and the gargantuan housepet scampered at her heels.  
  
"Nice dog," Tara commented, smiling slyly. "Sometimes, it's good to adopt them full grown."  
  
"It's a puppy," Buffy snapped, glaring at Spike.  
  
"Puppy?" Willow said, raising her eyebrows.  
  
"Puppy."  
  
Spike clapped his hands together, trying to change the subject. "Glad you birds are here." Buffy shot a warning glance at her lover, letting him know that in *no* uncertain terms was this conversation over.  
  
"What's up, Spike? " Tara asked, saving him from the Buffy evil glare of anger.  
  
"We need to patrol. Imagine Red here has filled you in on the spell?"  
  
"Body hopping. Someone in the gym. Hard to tell," Tara repeated, ticking off the highlights with her fingers.  
  
"Right," Spike agreed. "Demon on the loose after us," he continued, gesturing at Buffy and then himself. "So we go kill it."  
  
"A violence nightcap?" Willow grinned.  
  
"More like foreplay," Anya snarked as she walked past toward the kitchen. Buffy's turn to smirk at the blunt former demon.  
  
"Regardless," Buffy continued, her tone made more serious by her general annoyance with the entire evening. "The spell can only effect one at a time, so no one, *no one*, is *ever* alone with Emma. Two at a time, at least. Not even the pony."  
  
"The pony.. I mean, the dog, wasn't in the gym, Love," Spike responded, catching the mistake a bit late.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy snarled, glaring at the Vampire.  
  
"Right," Spike conceeded. Choose your battles when sparring with the Slayer. "Not even the dog."  
  
"Got it," Willow answered, nodding.  
  
"What about Xander?" Buffy asked, turning her attention back to Spike.  
  
"Best he's not here, Love. We aren't sure if..."  
  
"I know but what if he decides to come here?"  
  
"Anya?" Spike called. The woman appeared from the kitchen doorway. "Where's Harris?"  
  
"I told him to stay home and sleep it off. He was all... wonky."  
  
"Good. Best thing," Buffy commented. "So, do you have the rules?"  
  
"Got it," Tara responded. "No alone, no ponies."  
  
"No jokes," Buffy said seriously. "It could be anyone. I'm not playing around with Emma's life."  
  
"S...sorry," Tara said, involuntarily rubbing her head and looking down at the floor. Her mood instantly changed, as if a switch had flipped in her head.  
  
"Tara," Buffy said, softening, "I'm sorry. I'm just on edge. Big meanie demons. Body hopping spells. Gargantuan farm animals in the house." Another evil look shot in Spike's direction.  
  
"No, it's OK," Tara said softly. "We'll make sure nothing happens."  
  
Slowly, she headed off towards the kitchen, her head hanging low, her quiet humming almost imperceptible even to Spike's Vampire ears.  
  
*****  
  
Giles awoke to a faint glimmer of light. It was cold. He flexed his hands, but realized he was restrained, metal clasped tight around his wrists and ankles. The smell of death, of burning flesh, was pungent, assaulting him. The back of his head pounded in what sounded like hail on a tin roof.  
  
As he eyes swum open, the faint glimmer became the glow of a fire. Painfully, he craned his head, noticing he was chained fast to the cavern wall in the center of a circle. The circle had been painted onto the wall. It smelled like blood. Giles could only see the edges of the pattern, but he already knew.  
  
The Eye of the Fates.  
  
"Watcher," the same voice hissed, bring Giles' memories flooding back. The cold reptilian hiss.  
  
"Show yourself," Giles demanded, mustering courage in the face of inescapable misfortune.  
  
"What would you like to see?" the creature answered, stepping into the fire light, it's voice becoming flat but human. A small angular woman, dark hair, dark eyes, similar in height to Buffy, stepped into the glow. The woman, unbeknownst to Giles, who had drawn the others to the school.  
  
"Who are you?" Giles asked, blinking at the vision.  
  
"Whomever I need be," it answered, its voice changing to a cracked whisper, dry as the desert. Rough as sandpaper. The visage changed and a hunched old hag appeared before him. Her eyes glowed a blood red.  
  
"*What* are you?" Giles asked, cringing at the sight.  
  
"The face you place on evil," it answered, hissing, shifting again. It's limbs melted into it's body and its frame elongated like a cobra ready to strike. A long, pink tongue darted out, licking its horrid, scaly lips, then slid back into its cavernous mouth. Giles shuddered at the thought of the beast so close that it had touched him.  
  
"You had said that I should die," Giles said calmly. Actually, he thought, death might be a comfort compared to the atrocities this creature could visit upon him.  
  
"No," it answered, shfting again, morphing into a beautiful, raven haired woman. Her voice became spiced and rich and luxurious. "I made you an offer," it purred, coming closer, it's fingers playing under the Watcher's chin. Giles turned his head from the creature's hypnotic beauty. "Kill the child or die."  
  
"And I made a choice," Giles said, defiantly.  
  
"And I did not *like* your choice," it purred, pressing rub red lips to his cheek. "So the offer has changed."  
  
Giles sighed. "What then?"  
  
"Well, it's not an offer at all anymore, really," it said coyly, walking away. Its perfect round backside sauntering towards the fire. "It's more of a win win proposition." The creature spun on one stiletto heel and stared at Giles.  
  
"And what is that?"  
  
"Kill the child and live forever," it answered simply.  
  
Giles swallowed, watching it stalk the cavern like a panther. "I will not kill Emma."  
  
"Wrong," it said sharply, stopping in its tracks. It stared at the Watcher with empty, black eyes. "You see, the symbol behind you is...."  
  
"The Eye of the Fates," Giles interrupted.  
  
"Correct," it said, smiling, glistening white teeth glittering in the fire light. "I control you." Giles craned his head to look again at the looping, endless pattern, then looked the beast in the eye.  
  
"You cannot will me to destroy them."  
  
"I can," it said. "I will. Or you will die resisting and I will kill the Star anyway."  
  
*****  
  
"Ahh!" Xander shouted, sitting bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face, dripping in rivulets down his chest. The nightmare. Too real. Kissing Willow. Blackness. Giles.  
  
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning forward to catch his breath. The evil had been in him. He could feel its vapour trail linking him to Willow and to the darkness and somehow to Giles. It was gone now. Of that, he was sure. But he could feel the rawness in his veins as if acid had been pumped from his heart and singed every inch of his body.  
  
"Will," he muttered to himself, reaching towards the bedside table. Fumbling for the phone. His breath hurt, his mind racing, his heart exploding in his chest from the force of the nightmare.  
  
As the phone rang, it came back to him. Dawn's eyes. So bright they burned his pupils. It consumed her, then him, then all of them. But the light was really darkness. His head had hit the wooden floor with a thud and he could feel it pour into his ears, his eyes, his mouth. Like tar. Burning. Exploding. The Eye. The Dragon. A man in a suit. A hunched old woman with red eyes. A child suspended in darkness. Emptiness. Blackness. Then Willow.  
  
'Hi, you've reached Tara and Willow. We can't come....'  
  
"Damn it!" Xander snapped, slamming the phone into the receiver.  
  
Willow.  
  
Emma.  
  
Xander frantically picked up the phone, punching in Buffy's exchange. It rang only once before a chipper, giddy voice answered. "Hello?"  
  
"Dawn?" Xander croaked, his voice dry and cracked.  
  
"Yeah, Xander. You still sick?" Dawn asked. Xander could hear barely coherent words and giggles from the baby in the background.  
  
"I'm fine. Where's Buffy? I need to talk to her."  
  
"Patrol."  
  
Xander thought a moment. "Then put Spike on."  
  
"He's with Buffy. He's *always* with Buffy," Dawn commented, then giggled again. "Emma easy," Xander heard her say to the child. "Anya, can you get her out of the water bowl?" Xander shook his head, trying to think.  
  
"Dawn, put Anya on."  
  
"Sure." There was a pause.  
  
"Hey, Pookey," Anya chirped into the phone. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Fine," he croaked. "Have you seen Willow?"  
  
"Sure, she's in the living room. But what do you need her for?" Anya asked, her insecurity bubbling to the surface. Panic took control and Xander lunged at the floor, grabbing his pants and almost dropping the phone as he forced them on.  
  
"Ahn, listen. I can't explain, but *don't* let Willow near Emma."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"I know what happened in the gym."  
  
"Yes. The body hopping spell. No one alone with Emma until we know who and how it jumps," Anya repeated from memory.  
  
Xander sighed, gritting his teeth. "It was me," he admitted, pulling his shirt on and buttoning as he talked. "And now it's Willow."  
  
"How? How do you know?" Anya stuttered, all chirpiness gone from her voice. She glanced around the corridor and watched Willow and Tara talking to Cyrus in the living room.  
  
"I.. I remember now that it's gone," Xander answered, trying his shoes as he spoke.  
  
"How... how did it jump?"  
  
"I... I don't know," Xander began. 'Consequences, Harris,' Damn it, Spike. "Anya, we kissed."  
  
"Who? Us?"  
  
"Me... and Willow."  
  
The line was silent. Not even breath. "Ahn? Ahn, I..."  
  
"What?" she said, her voice void of emotion.  
  
"I want to explain. I need to explain, but there's no time. I'm on my way over."  
  
"Don't come here," Anya retorted flatly.  
  
"Anya, I can explain..."  
  
"As much as I want it to be because I *don't* want to see you, you can't come because Buffy said no. Spike..."  
  
"What?" Xander was standing now, his body moving towards the door, tethered only by the phone cord.  
  
"You heard me," Anya replied.  
  
"Anya..." Xander sighed, "I..."  
  
"Don't.Come.Here.," she whispered, tears building. "Besides, even if I did think you could explain it sufficiently, someone needs to tell Spike and Buffy."  
  
Xander processed her words. Maybe she would give him a chance to explain. No time. "OK. Anya, please, *please* keep Willow away from Emma. I'm going to find them."  
  
"Just don't come here," Anya whispered softly, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Quickly, she hung up.  
  
As Anya looked around the room, trying to hide her feelings from Dawn, to compose herself before she moved along with her night, she noticed the toddler clinging to her leg. Anya reached down, scooping the baby into her arms. Dawn was silent, patting the dog and watching them cautiously.  
  
"Let's get her to bed," Anya whispered, wiping the tears off her cheeks and burying her face in Emma's soft hair. "Please."  
  
To be contd. 


	11. Mothers

Title: Mothers (The Evil Within - Chapter 11) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy and Spike patrol and run into more than the bargained for. Anya spills her feelings to Dawn. Giles realizes his place in the puzzle.  
  
Mothers  
  
"Buffy, you're overreacting, Love," Spike huffed as he strode next to Buffy, somewhere between annoyed and amused by her tantrum. Buffy had grown up quite a bit since Emma, but every so often, she turned into a whining school girl once again. Internally, Spike smiled. Even that was relatively endearing.  
  
"I can't *believe*... what were you thinking, Spike?" she shouted, racing along their normal route, almost stomping down the path.  
  
"Niblet asked for a pet. We talked. *You* said 'take care of it'. Sodding slave that I am, I did."  
  
"*That's* not a dog."  
  
"Buffy..." Spike drew a long breath, trying to cool his reaction. This was a bloody family pet, not the sodding apocalypse. "Pet, I did what I could. I wanted to find something safe for Emma but big enough that it might scare off the *human* monsters in case anything should happen to ..."  
  
Buffy slowed a bit, softening just enough that Spike could sense her relax. "Should happen to what?"  
  
"I just felt that he might as well serve a purpose. Watch after my girls if I.. If either of us are gone. Not much scaring from a Corgi, you know," Spike babbled.  
  
Buffy stifled a giggle, trying to hide it from Spike. "But that's a pony," she whined, keeping her smile under wraps. He caught sight of it and grabbed her belt loop, spinning her towards him.  
  
"Pony or no," he purred, her waist now pressed hard against the front of his jeans, his eyes boring holes into hers. "Can't tell me you don't find him charming."  
  
"What would I know about charming?" she answered, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper.  
  
"Dunno, Love," he answered, his lips dangerously close to hers. "Be nice to have another male in the house."  
  
"Going to beg to be walked and drink from a ceramic bowl on the floor too?" Buffy snarked.  
  
"I can think of other canine... treats.. you might enjoy more, Pet," Spike growled, nipping her ear.  
  
Suddenly, Buffy wriggled free, slamming Spike to the ground. He looked up in stunned shock as she vaulted over him, stake appearing as if from thin air, dusting a vamp before her feet ever reached the ground.  
  
Immediately, Spike kipped up, spinning and catching sight of a veritable flock of Vampires surrounding them. Buffy shot a glance at him, winking, excitement twinkling in her eyes. "Ready?"  
  
Spike nodded in reply, producing a stake from his coat pocket. "Ready," he answered, lunging toward the closest vamp.  
  
"Let the games begin."  
  
*****  
  
Quentin strolled down the empty corridor of his palatial estate, a cigar pressed tightly between his teeth. The stale sound of screaming cascaded from the caverns. It was hard to tell which one held which scream.  
  
He sat down at the table in his library, listening to the faint sounds behind the walls. Teach Giles to cross me, he thought. How stupid does he think I am? For his transgressions, Giles would be punished. Dying was too simple. No. Giles will murder the child and then live on to face his every day with her cherry red blood on his hands.  
  
The demon had been loosed. The spell had been cast. The Wheel of Fortune set in motion. A random cascade of events would have to fall exactly into place, but Draconius, the creature that rose within him, had the to power to align them. It was only a matter of time. A matter of patience.  
  
Quentin leaned back in the chair, puffing on his cigar. When the child dies, all that was in the way would be the One. A smile broke on his face. The One will already be destroyed. If the demon is successful in his mission, half will be lost, the other half broken *by* loss. The thought made Quentin giddy. Without them, Draconius could rise. The dimensions could be brought down and the wars can begin. Wars. Profitable wars. And, special bonus gift with disarming the One, access to the Key. Makes dimensional travel and destruction simple and relatively pain free.  
  
And to think, not much longer, Quentin thought. He stood, walking toward the window. The blood red moon was rising in the sky.  
  
*****  
  
"There you go," Anya whispered, pulling Emma from the bathtub and wrapping her in a fluffy white towel. Dawn sat on the counter, the as yet unnamed dog at her feet.  
  
Emma's eyes were sinking as Anya toweled her off. It was obvious to Dawn that she was trying to distract herself. She almost rubbed Emma's skin off before Dawn put a hand on Anya's shoulder. "Pajamas are on the towel rack," Dawn said, gesturing at a pair of pink footies draped against the wall.  
  
"Thanks," Anya answered, grabbing the PJ's and dressing the limp child carefully, drying her hair gently with the towel, brushing it like one would a doll.  
  
"You... you alright?" Dawn asked, watching Anya tear up again as she ran the brush through the baby's shiny blonde ringlets.  
  
"I should have a baby," Anya answered frankly. " I would make a good mother. Someone to love."  
  
"You love Xander," Dawn answered, hopping off the counter and sitting down on the floor next to Anya.  
  
"Someone who loves me back. Even when I say the wrong thing. Even when I'm stupid," she croaked, swallowing a sob.  
  
"You're not stupid and he *does* love you," Dawn said softly, brushing Anya's hair from her face.  
  
"No," the former demon commented quietly. "I'm the consolation prize. The best he could do."  
  
The older of the women stood, picking up the baby and carrying her from the bathroom.  
  
"Anya, that's not true."  
  
"Where should we put Emma to sleep?" Anya asked, changing the subject and hiding her eyes in Emma's soft hair once again.  
  
"Hunh?"  
  
"Her bed or theirs? I know they've been keeping her with them a lot. Must be nice," she said thoughtfully, looking around the room. "You know, to wake up all wrapped around each other."  
  
"You obviously haven't been around Buffy in the morning," Dawn quipped. "But it is kinda cool. They love her. Scary as it sounds, they're *really* good parents."  
  
"Better than yours?" Anya asked, glad for the distraction of conversation.  
  
Dawn thought for a moment. "Well, Spike is a hundred times the father we had. But all he had to do to be better was show up. He's great with both of them. Buffy... well, she's not mom. But she's getting there."  
  
Emma sighed and plopped against Anya's chest. "Think it's bedtime. Where should I put her?"  
  
"Her bed. Spike will come and get her when they get home. It's like a ritual. Not sure if he would be able to sleep if he didn't do it."  
  
"Right," Anya answered, heading toward the crib and laying the little girl down, tucking her in. The puppy followed, stretching out beside the crib and burying its head in its massive paws. "Now what?"  
  
Dawn sat down on the floor, leaving the recliner for Anya. "We wait," she answered, staring at the ceiling. "He does love you," she interjected as she stretched out beside the dog.  
  
"Not enough."  
  
*****  
  
"Buffy!" Spike panted, dusting a vamp then spinning just as another was lunging towards his love. She heard his warning, spinning and thrusting her stake at the same time. They were almost back to back, constantly moving around each other. Through each other. Instinctively.  
  
They were surrounded. Trapped in a circle of Vampires who didn't seem to be in the best of moods.  
  
"Someone forget to tell me about the undead convention in Sunnydale?" Buffy quipped.  
  
"You've seen worse, Pet," Spike answered, still circling, feeling her back inches from his.  
  
"Well, yeah. I'd take all of these morons at once rather than face you when you were evil," Buffy said, while sizing up the horde in front of her.  
  
"Me?" Spike gasped. "Thought you said you'd have kicked me back across the pond, Love."  
  
"I would've," Buffy answered, smiling. "But it would have at least been hard."  
  
"Pet, is that a compliment?" Spike question as a young vamp lunged and Spike took him out with no more than the flick of a wrist and an annoyed smirk.  
  
"I think so," Buffy replied.  
  
"Need to work on your delivery, Pet," he commented, letting his back brush against hers. He could feel her tense then her muscles fire as she spun, kicking a fledgling halfway across the cemetery. "But thanks all the same."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"Shall we, Love?" Spike asked, brushing his free hand against hers. He didn't realize. How could he have known that that touch...  
  
"I've been wondering when you were going to ask."  
  
Suddenly, they exploded from the center, moving so quickly that they must have seemed a blur to the undead masses around them. The flurry of movement stunned the vamps and the twenty or so that remained stilled for just a moment. Physically, the two moved independently, but they could sense each other's nerves firing, muscles twitching, hearts racing. Buffy spun, knocking three demons to the ground in one fluid movement. She had dusted two before they could even twitch, then leapt at the third as he scrambled to his feet. It was a split second before she had the stake buried deep within its dead heart.  
  
As she flipped to her feet, she caught sight of Spike cutting a swath through the thick of the pack, simply swinging the stake left then right, so quickly that the creatures barely knew he had a weapon before they were dust in the wind. Buffy circled the periphery, rounding up those that were running to escape Spike. Almost like herding sheep, she thought.  
  
Was I was this stupid when I was first turned?, Spike thought.  
  
Suddenly, Spike heard a yelp and the sound of fabric tearing. He spun from the center of the dwindling pack just in time to see three Vampires descending on Buffy all at once. They were behind her and armed. He lunged forward, watching her hit the ground face first with the thud. She struggled to get up, bucking against the ground, but one vamp was astride her legs and the other two on her arms. The one on her back had a piece of her shirt in his hands.  
  
Anger tore though Spike as he cut through the crowd. He could feel her fear, her fury as he raced towards her, fending off the rest of the pack in his wake.  
  
*****  
  
Giles was sweating. That cold sweat of fever or fear. The creature prowled around the room, occasionally speaking to Giles in words he chose to ignore. Sometimes it chanted at the fire, willing great plumes of smoke into apparitions. Scenes of life and death. Specters of every evil he knew. Sometimes visions that consoled him. Buffy. Emma. Willow. Anya. But as they rose from the fire into the thick, pungent air, they contorted into something wholly disconcerting. It was like watching clouds in the sky, twisting, changing.  
  
More like watching clouds in his youth after a nice joint and a couple of pints, except without the pleasant buzz.  
  
The Watcher closed his eyes, feeling his breath, trying to think. There didn't seem to be any way to avoid this. The cosmic tumblers were clicking into place for Draconius. Simple enough, Giles thought. I won't survive this. Strangely enough, admitting it was a comfort. Death, certainly, was not the worst of all fates.  
  
Still, before he gave in, he had to fashion a way to throw a wrench into the machinery. His own death, at least to him, was inconsequential. But if he succumbed before Emma was taken out of harm's way... that would be unforgivable, even from his grave. She was as good as his own flesh. She would not die on his watch.  
  
His own flesh.  
  
What the creature had told him rang in his ears. The pieces falling into place, just as they had for Buffy. Her connection to Spike had been evident even as enemies. Fate had chosen this lifetime to rejoin them. Just as they were returned to their true essence, just as Draconius had chosen this time to return, the Powers had brought him back. The Father. Despite the fact that the physical connection had faded centuries past, the spiritual connection was still there. The need to protect Buffy. His disdain for the birth father who had abandoned his Slayer. The intense paternal love for his charge and her daughter. Even the vague feeling of familial disappointment and reluctant pride in Spike. It all made a modicum of sense.  
  
All the players had to be here for this chapter, he surmised. The One. Their child, the seed of Peace. The evil. The Father. One was missing.  
  
Mother.  
  
To be contd. 


	12. Fury

Hi. All  
  
I know that I am a day late on this chapter, and I have some unfortunate personal issues to deal with, so the story will be on hiatus for a little over a week. I hope to have Chapter 13 out a week from Sunday (8/4). I know that it is quite a wait, but if you only knew.... Sometimes real life is more angsty than fiction.  
  
I want to thank you all who have been there for me this past week. You know who you are. ::::hugs:::: to you all.  
  
And, in an almost ME turn of events, I am leaving you with a little cliffhanger. So, you will have something to look forward to:)  
  
Please write and let me know what you think of the chapter.  
  
Thanks for all of your support.  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Title: Fury (The Evil Within - Chapter 12) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy and Spike are faced with an army of Vampires. Giles tries to understand the rules of this final game. Xander locates Buffy and Spike and tells them what he knows. Spike has to make a choice that will change everything.  
  
Fury  
  
It was almost like watching life in slow motion. Even with lightening quickness and the ultimate in worldly strength, the twenty feet from the thick of the horde of vampires to Buffy seemed like miles. The fury boiling in Spike's veins as he watched her struggle, the Vampire on her back holding a swath of her shirt like a red flag in front of a bull, ignited everything in Spike. Fight. Protection. Possessiveness. Fear. Most of all, love.  
  
For whatever reason, primarily the pack of vampires clinging to his limbs, he could not get there. Couldn't gain purchase on the damp grass.  
  
"Slayer," the demon hissed, it's game face strong and eager. Buffy bucked against the ground, trying to loose her arms. Her stake had rolled just shy of her reach. She could feel the cold breeze against the back of her neck where her shirt had been torn away and a nagging pain pulsing, burning in her side.  
  
Buffy felt the Vampire shift above her, leaning forward. She sensed him poised there above her neck. Waiting. Taunting. Quickly, she flipped her head to the opposite view and saw Spike. He was running. Or at least trying to. There were five of them clinging to him. His arms. Legs. Waist, but she could see his muscles firing, his legs pumping against the slippery ground. She lifted her head from the turf and saw his eyes. His terror. His anger. His love.  
  
One good day, she thought, feeling the point of the vampire's fangs graze her skin.  
  
Not today. She heard his voice inside her head and saw him dive forward, sliding on the grass and making it just far enough to knock the vampire on her right arm to the ground. In a split second motion, Buffy grabbed the stake and bucked hard, flipping underneath the vampire and driving the stake deep in his heart.  
  
Buffy could feel Spike's rage inside her head, boiling, consuming as she grabbed the leg of the third, hurling it to the ground and staking it as she hopped to her feet. For once, she felt what he had hidden from her. The true nature of the beast. Not Spike's version; tainted by love and by tenderness. But the reality of the Vampire. Cold and angry and passionate.  
  
Spike was in a fury she could barely comprehend. He rarely had slipped into game face since they had been joined, but as she moved, she could see yellow eyes glint as he staked every vampire in his path. She felt the unbridled anger. The perfect counterpoint to his undying love for her. It pumped in her own veins as she followed him through the pack, delighting in the rampage. The feeling was foreign but familiar. Spike had been right. They had never been that different.  
  
Finally, he stood there, panting, his arms outstretched, his face rolled up to the bloodied moon. Buffy looked around, surveying the scene. Nothing. Emptiness. Silence. All of them were gone, but she could not remember a one. Still her mind wound through his and felt the oddest mixture of exaltation, adrenaline, and a palpable edge of sorrow. It occurred to her in that one moment that it was not the kill that had ever interested Spike. It was the fight. The passion. He killed because it was his self-borne duty as her mate. He fought for the love of the fire.  
  
When he lowered his face to hers, it was crystal blue eyes that stared down at her. Soft eyes. Ancient, beautiful eyes. She blinked, unable to fathom the intensity of why lay behind them. Buffy felt the anger melt to love. The fear to concern, as if a switch flipped inside of him. The fight was done. But they were not. They would never be done.  
  
"Love," Spike whispered, stepping towards her. Buffy stood still, dazed by her own emotion. His palm was on her cheek and her eyes lifted back to his. "You alright, Pet?"  
  
Buffy swallowed, drowning in him. "Yeah. Fine."  
  
"What happened?" His hands were on her shoulders, trying to steady her.  
  
"Um... I don't know. Caught me off guard," she replied. Since the One, she'd never been caught off guard. Spike was trying to pull the tattered edges of her shirt together behind her neck. His fingers glided over goosebumps and she shuddered.  
  
"Here," Spike whispered, shrugging off his coat. He gently turned her so her back was to him. Blood trickled from a wound in her side. Spike grimaced, then another switch flipped and it occurred to him that it was his job to tend to her. To them. "You're hurt," he said softly, his hand trailing down her ribs and inching her shirt up so that he could see the cut.  
  
"I'm fine," she countered, annoyed with the idea and tugging her top back down towards her slacks. Spike let his fingers graze against the wound and she winced.  
  
"Fine, eh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned down, inspecting the slice just below her ribs. It trickled a cherry red, but she was right. It was just a nasty scratch. Softly, Spike pulled her shirt down and helped her into his jacket.  
  
"Need to clean that up when we get back," Spike commented, turning her to face him again.  
  
"It's nothing," Buffy answered, pulling his coat tightly around her. Inhaling his scent. Wrapping herself in him.  
  
"Buffy," Spike sighed.  
  
"Spike, I'm fine." Really, she wasn't sure why she was pushing him away. Embarrassment. Aggravation. Old habit.  
  
"It happens," he said quietly.  
  
"What does?" Buffy replied, crossing her arms.  
  
"Getting caught in tough situations." Spike could feel her tense. Buffy was furious at herself for being taken off her guard, and furious with him for calling her on it.  
  
"Not to the Slayer," she snapped, turning away from him.  
  
"*Even* to the Slayer," he responded, turning her back around. He rubbed her shoulder. Her heart wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and cry out her fear and her failure, but her pride shrugged his hand away. Spike understood that. Knew what it felt like to be the fiercest warrior in all the land and still be conquered.  
  
"Let's get back to business then, shall we, Pet?" When you fall off, best to get right back on the horse, Spike thought.  
  
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. We have a demon to kill."  
  
*****  
  
"Who is the Mother?" Giles asked. In the time he had spent strapped to the frozen, slimy mouth of the cave, his reeling mind had broken to acceptance. All that was left was to figure out the game in order to win before he died.  
  
"Hmmm?" the raven-haired beauty hummed as she sauntered to his place against the wall.  
  
"The Mother?" Giles repeated. "You have made it painfully evident that we all must return. We all must be here in order for you plan to succeed. All who were there at the First."  
  
"Clever little Watcher," it said, flashing a perfect smile. Still, Giles could see the emptiness of its heart behind its coal black eyes.  
  
"Fairly obvious really," Giles commented. "The Peacemaker was brought into this dimension at this precise time. Draconius chose this era to arise. The One has been rejoined. And I.."  
  
"And you," it repeated. "You should know your own mate. Tsk, tsk," it chastised.  
  
"I have no *mate*," Giles answered.  
  
"If you only got out more," the creature commented, pressing its soft, red lips to his. Giles could feel the horrid scales just below the surface and cringed away from the beast. He felt the creature back away, grinning.  
  
"She is among you. The physical bonds are long past for all. But spiritually, we were connected always at the First. In every life, in every dimension, we travel together. A new name. A new face. A new role to play. Father, daughter, mother son, protector, saviour, murderer, lover. We are all just part of a cosmic play. The Wheel spins anew until all of the pieces *snap* into place and all of the players assume the correct roles. It was in the cards," it riddled, strolling around the flickering fire.  
  
"So who is the last piece?" Giles asked again.  
  
"The Mother will bring the child," it answered. Giles thought carefully about how to move on.  
  
"And then what?" he finally said, at a loss for anything but bluntness.  
  
"The game will begin. The child will die. Draconius will destroy the walls and rule as it should have been at the First," it answered, frankly.  
  
Giles licked his parched lips. Well, it seems to be in a chatty mood, he thought. "What is the game?"  
  
The raven-haired creature let out a raucous laugh. "You think I would tell you?" it chuckled, walking back towards him.  
  
"I'm not sure I see the harm," Giles responded, calmly. "I will not kill Emma. You have told me this will lead to my death. Knowing the rules seems.... inconsequential."  
  
The creature smiled, tilting its head and studying the Watcher's face. "Alright," it conceded. "'I'll give you a hint. One will be separated. One taken. The remaining must chose."  
  
"Sp.."  
  
"Ah, ah," it interrupted, putting a cold, pale finger across his lips. "If you want me to talk, you must listen." Giles nodded in response. "The beauty of it is that the Mother must save the child, but the Mother cannot be saved but *for* the child." it riddled. Why does evil always speak cryptically?, Giles thought. He moved to speak again, but caught the creature's warning glare and his jaw snapped shut. "The blood of one can end the game, but it must be a willing sacrifice."  
  
"But I have said that I..."  
  
"*You* do not get to choose."  
  
"I will not let them die!"  
  
"*You* it snapped, grabbing Giles around the throat, "are in no position to make demands." The coal black eyes glimmered, sparkling like obsidian in candlelight. "The *game* chooses. You humans," it cackled with disgust, dropping its hand from the Watcher's throat. Giles choked, coughing, his face now red with effort. "Such an *arrogant* breed." The creature's disdain was evident in its tone. Its movement. "So technologically advanced, so *superior*, " it spat. "But in your inane quest for knowledge, you have forgotten the simplest of all concepts."  
  
"And what is that?" Giles coughed.  
  
The creature spun, glaring at him. "We are all just players in a game. Pawns to the Powers. All we have, all we have been given, all we do, we are destined to do. Fate has bound us. Fate will release us. We do not get to choose."  
  
"Sorry," Giles responded. "I don't believe that. We may be set upon our path, but we can choose to follow or to change."  
  
"Silly, *insolent* boy," it croaked, changing to the old sorceress. Her red eyes pierced him like daggers. "Your choices have already been made."  
  
*****  
  
Xander ran, his feet hitting the ground in a slow but steady rhythm. His heart pumped fast, exploding into his head like a distant fireworks display. The cemetery had never seemed so far. But carrying the weight of a secret and a heavy heart burdened his movement.  
  
The gates flashed into sight and he picked up the pace, sweat trickling gown his neck. He wasn't sure if it was fear or exertion, but he knew he had to find them. Now. Ten minutes ago. A lifetime past.  
  
It seemed like hours that he ran, dodging headstones and flower arrangements. Sunnydale must have the busiest florists around, he thought. Not to mention a booming undertaking market. Maybe he needed a new line of work. He glanced down and saw names. Names he knew. Maybe not.  
  
Finally, a glimpse of near white hair caught his eye. Then a tiny frame wrapped in a jacket that nearly dragged the ground. An odd sight really. They didn't look that ominous. That *One* - like. Just a couple out on a stroll. A couple. Buffy and Spike. Ugh. Strolling though the houses of the dead.  
  
"Buffy!" Xander called out, trying to catch his breath. "Spike!"  
  
They turned around in perfect harmony, mirroring each other like dancers on a stage. "Xander?" Buffy questioned, jogging towards him, Spike at her heels. "You OK?"  
  
"Fine," he panted, hands on his knees, bent over and gasping for air. Maybe I need to hit the gym, he thought.  
  
"Feeling alright, Harris?" Spike asked. It was a sincere question, but one that rubbed Xander the wrong way. Still, more pressing things than a good insult match with SuperVamp.  
  
"Fine," Xander panted again. "Look, I know what's going on."  
  
"Which what?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms.  
  
"Gym. Spell. It was me."  
  
"You...was...?" Buffy said, crinkling her nose in confusion.  
  
"Spill it, Harris. Haven't got all night," Spike huffed. "Nasty demon we need to take care of."  
  
"Give it a rest, Peroxide Boy," Xander shot back. "The spell...it was... it took me first."  
  
"*You're* the threat?" Buffy inquired incredulously, chuckling.  
  
"Not at the moment, but thanks for the vote of confidence," Xander snarked.  
  
"Then who?" Spike asked.  
  
"Willow."  
  
"Willow?" Another incredulous giggle from the Slayer.  
  
"Trust me. Willow," Xander answered, standing up straight again and regaining control of his breath.  
  
"How'd it jump?" Spike questioned, staring at the boy. Believing him.  
  
"A kiss."  
  
"You? Kissed Willow?" Buffy question, shaking her head as if a nasty thought had crept in. A nasty thought *had* crept in.  
  
"Look, I'll tell you the whole gruesome tale after I get through the being gutted by a former Vengeance Demon. But isn't Willow at *your* house?" Xander gushed.  
  
"Oh God," Buffy gasped, her hand clapping over her mouth. Spike was already in motion. Xander looked at Buffy, knowing she was terrified and torn.  
  
"Look Buffy, there's a lot of people at the house. I'll go with Spike to get Willow and we'll be back in a jiff. You go protect the world from Big Badness," Xander reasoned.  
  
"But I can't leave her.." Just as the words came from Buffy's mouth, an enormous gray creature ambled from behind the crypt to her right. It roared, lunging at her. Spike turned, hearing the sound, watching in horror as Buffy spun to block against a tree trunk sized arm.  
  
"Buffy!" Spike yelled, running back towards her.  
  
"Spike, go get Emma," she screamed back, planting a kick in the demon's gut, knocking it back a few feet. "Xander, go with him. Willow might listen to.."  
  
"Buffy," Xander called weakly.  
  
"Go!" Buffy ordered, dodging another blow.  
  
"Buffy, no!" Spike answered. Then he heard her voice inside her head. 'If you ever have to make the choice....'  
  
"Spike, Go.Now."  
  
Spike looked at her, so tiny wrapped in his coat, and felt his heart breaking in his chest. 'Go' he heard again, her voice pleading with him.  
  
Spike tore himself from the spot and ran towards Revello, not looking back. Ran away from his love.  
  
To be contd. 


	13. Safe

Title: Safe (The Evil Within - Chapter 13) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Spike leaves Buffy to fight a near unbeatable demon in order to save Emma. Will he make it in time? Will she be able to hold off the demon until help returns?  
  
Safe  
  
Spike bolted towards the house at a pace Xander could not fathom, much less keep up. The Vampire was a block ahead of him, but even from that distance, Xander could see his shoulders shudder as if he were sobbing as he ran.  
  
It was a conscious decision for Spike to take every step forward. Part of him was desperate to run back to Buffy. "Slayer, Slayer, Slayer," he chanted to himself in rhythm with his pounding stride, trying to convince himself that by virtue of her calling, she could defeat anything.  
  
But Spike knew better.  
  
He had defeated two.  
  
The thought tore at him like a thousand daggers. His mind reeled. Even now, over a mile away, he could feel her every move. Her heart exploding. Her muscles firing, burning. But more, her fear. Her fear of the monster she was battling. Her fear that Spike might not reach Emma in time.  
  
Oh God, Spike thought. She's distracted.  
  
Emma.  
  
Spike moved impossibly faster down the pavement.  
  
*****  
  
Rotting flesh, Buffy thought, catching a whiff of the slimy horrific demon. It's arms were rather more tentacles which, as she narrowly missed being swatted by one, were covered in little suction cups, each with a solitary barb in the center. No more sushi for me, she thought, trying to trip the creature but barely even budging it. The force of her swinging leg knocked her to the ground.  
  
As she hit the grass, stunned, she could feel Spike's heart pound, his legs burn. Still running. Dammit, hurry up. Get Emma.  
  
Buffy brought herself into the fight just in time to roll out of the way of one of the enormous tentacles. "Not today," she quipped, jabbing her stake through its foot and jumping up to spin kick it to the ground. It fell with an Earth shaking thud, roaring, denting the turf as it hit.  
  
'Weapon' she muttered to herself. 'Need weapons'.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Spike's crypt. Hesitating for a split second, she thought run and I might lose it. Stay and can't kill it without a weapon. Buffy scrambled to her feet and fled to the crypt.  
  
*****  
  
She's inside, Spike thought. Good girl. Wait for me, Pet. If it runs off, we'll find it. Or it'll find us. Stay there, love.  
  
His feet hammered against the sidewalk, hopping the stairs in one leap. The door almost came off it's hinges save for the thought that the door helped to keep the nasties out. Spike fumbled in his pocket for his keys, pulling them from his jeans, dropping them with a clatter to the wooden deck.  
  
"F..." he muttered under his breath. Spike ducked down, grabbing them, trying again as if unlocking the door was akin to solving the riddle of the Sphinx.  
  
As he eased the key into the lock with shaking hands, the door swung wide as if of its own volition. He jumped back, high on adrenaline, his body on full alert.  
  
"What's wrong, Spike?" Willow asked.  
  
*****  
  
Buffy rummaged through Spike's armoury. He had an entire cabinet full of toys stowed in the crypt. Away from Emma, she thought, as she heard the thundering racket of an oversized tentacle thumping against the wooden door.  
  
"Stakes, Holy Water, Dagger. Dammit Spike. Where's the good stuff?" she argued with the air, tossing the tools of her trade to the floor. It hadn't occurred to her that Spike had stowed everything she needed to kill his kind. To kill him, if she had to. She never would. Not now. They were One.  
  
One.  
  
Buffy closed her eyes and wandered to him. Still no Emma. She could feel when he had their daughter. It was like a ship finding calm water. Still, his heart pumped, his body tense. Another clatter at the door brought her back.  
  
"Hurry up!" she screamed, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls.  
  
Buffy flung the cabinet to the floor, spilling its contents and knocking out a wooden panel in the back. "Didn't want the Bads to find your stash," she smiled, raising her eyebrows at the swords, a battle axe and other large and ugly tools.  
  
She dove for the axe, just as the door blew past her and into the far wall of the crypt. Buffy grinned, swinging the axe above her head, letting it circle her. "You want me?" she snarled at the creature in the doorway. It's black eyes glinted back at her. "You'll have to work for it."  
  
*****  
  
Spike grabbed Willow by the shoulders, lifting her off her feet and setting her down on the deck outside.  
  
"Spike..what are...?"  
  
"Get out of my house," he snarled, sliding back into game face.  
  
Willow's eyes flew wide. Fear coursed through her. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him like this. Yes. She could. In a school yard. One night when she destroyed everything and killed him in the process. He never called her on it. Never paid her back. Now was the time. "What? Why?" the girl muttered, swallowing, choking on her words.  
  
"Stay.Away." Spike roared, pushing her against the porch rail.  
  
"Spike!" Xander called from the walkway. "Spike, stop!" Xander watched Spike's yellow eyes glance his way, then turn back to Willow. "Spike, don't hurt her."  
  
"Not going to. Want her gone," Spike hissed, trying to control the urge to kill that which threatened his family.  
  
"I...I'll go," Willow stuttered, clinging to the railing with white knuckles. She could almost feel her racing heart in her fingertips.  
  
Xander approached the porch carefully. Spike was obviously beyond control. Not that Xander could really blame him. At least not this time. Still, if there was anything he had learned about Spike, it was that the Vampire in him was impulsive when hurt or angered. Even if he didn't intend it, when it came to the Summers women, any threat would be lucky to survive.  
  
"Spike," Xander said calmly. "She doesn't know. *I* didn't know."  
  
"Know... know what?" Willow asked, cherubic face red and frightened.  
  
"Will," Xander admonished, shooting her a glance that said 'Shut.Up' in thirteen different languages. "Spike, let me take her away, OK? We'll both go and not come back until it's over and Emma is safe. Alright?"  
  
Spike was quiet, his Vampire visage still masking his human features. His hands clenched and unclenched in a gesture that made Xander want to flee. Now.  
  
'Hurry up, Spike. Get Emma.' He could hear her in his head. Pleading. His face shifted to human.  
  
"Take her and go," Spike said coldly, stepping back from the red head. Xander bolted up the stairs.  
  
"Thank you," Xander uttered, grabbing Willow's arm, but Spike was already half way up the indoor staircase.  
  
*****  
  
"What the heck?" Dawn mumbled, sitting bolt upright. The dog hopped to its feet next to her. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Dawn stood up, assuming the stance that Spike had taught her in all of their training room spars, and blocked the way to the crib. It made her look somewhat intimidating, despite her childlike features and shampoo commercial hair.  
  
Anya's eyes popped open just as Emma's door flew back into the wall, and Spike strode in, completely consumed by adrenaline. His Vampire face had returned, as if he'd lost control of it, and he stared at Dawn with yellow eyes. He watched the teenager for a minute, softening, but not changing back.  
  
"S..Spike?" Dawn whispered tentatively. She could not help but wonder, but fear, that something had happened. Like Angel. Something had made him... bad.  
  
Anya was deadly still, sensing the hair trigger on the Vampire. She had a talent for making others peeved on a good day. Not a good idea to try it out now, she thought.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn repeated with more confidence. He looked at her, concentrating, trying to calm himself. Spike shook his head, allowing his human features to return to him. "Spike are you...?"  
  
The Vampire did not answer, just strode toward the crib. Gently, he leaned over and scooped the soundly sleeping tot into his arms. His heart slowed as she nestled her head into his shoulder and the fresh smell of baby shampoo and powder drifted to nose. Safe, he thought, as if it was the only cogent thought he could produce. Safe.  
  
A hand rested on Spike's shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned to face Dawn. "Spike, everything OK?"  
  
He was silent, staring at her intently. "Willow," he finally whispered.  
  
"Willow? Willow what?"  
  
"The spell."  
  
"Willow?"  
  
"Yes, Nibs," he answered, stroking Emma's hair.  
  
"Is she gone?" Dawn asked, perplexed by the new information.  
  
"Harris has her," Spike answered. Anya involuntarily winced. Spike's hands ran gently over Emma's limbs. A silent inventory to assure himself that she was in one piece.  
  
"She's safe, Spike." Dawn said quietly, watching his eyes. Seeing that it was fear that was making him so crazed. Not anger. Fear.  
  
"Thank you," Spike answered, letting his hand touch Dawn's arm.  
  
"Where's Buffy?"  
  
The sound of her name brought the panic flooding back like a tidal wave.  
  
Buffy.  
  
She was alone. Fighting a ten foot tall demon with some nasty attributes. Dawn saw the look of fright cross Spike's face and snatched Emma before he ran off still clinging to the little girl.  
  
"I have to go, Dawn. *Don't* leave her," Spike pleaded, planting a kiss on the top of Emma's head and one against Dawn's cheek.  
  
"I won't" Dawn answered, worry shaking her words.  
  
"Good girl, Pet." Before she could answer, he was back out the door.  
  
*****  
  
"Tara!" Spike called from halfway between the bottom step and the open door. The Witch appeared from around the corner. "Protection spell. House. Room. No demons. Leave a hole for me. Check with Cyrus as well. Not sure what *he* is..."  
  
"Spike, I..." Tara stuttered, terror in her eyes. But before she could finish the thought, Spike was on the sidewalk, running down the side of the road in a blur of platinum and black leather.  
  
*****  
  
Buffy swung the axe, her whole body leaned into the motion. Its rotten skin was as hard as iron, but her latest blow hacked a chunk from the hide of it's arm and elicited an Earth shattering howl. Buffy tossed the axe into the air as the creature lunged towards her, back flipping over the couch and snatching the weapon from the air in which it hung as she landed. She backed towards the door, wanting to get it outside again. There she'd have more room to maneuver. There she was more likely to find Spike.  
  
It lurched again towards her, spitting some sort of horrid yellow substance. Buffy dodged and heard the liquid splat into the wall like a paintball. So, this nasty has a couple of fun features, she thought.  
  
"Well, come on," Buffy taunted. "Get me." The creature hopped forward with amazing quickness and grace for its size, and trampled an end table on its way towards her. She retreated to the doorway, the axe held in front of her like a lion tamer holds a chair. About as much protection as well, she thought.  
  
Suddenly, she felt it. A wave of calm sweep over her. The feeling she had when she awoke wrapped around Emma, Spike encircling them both. Safe, she thought. Catching her hand on the door frame to steady herself, she tried to find him in her mind. To make sure he had Emma and the fight was even worth fighting after all. He had her. Emma was safe.  
  
The demon saw the Slayer relax for a split second and lunged, bringing down a tentacle. The blow missed its mark, but sent the axe clattering to the stone floor. Buffy jumped, awakening from her reverie, and backed the last step into the night.  
  
*****  
  
Spike bolted through the cemetery gates, his senses tuned to every sound, every scent. He could track her anywhere. She was him and he, her. He darted down the walkway and into the grass, hurtling headstones as if they were stepping stones in a school yard.  
  
She hadn't stayed inside, he thought. At least not alone. Her body in motion. Her scent laced with fear and fatigue and will.  
  
Then it all stopped.  
  
Like someone had hung up on the other end of a phone line. Silence. Spike ran faster.  
  
*****  
  
As she stepped backwards into the grass, her foot slid in the dew. It wasn't much. Not enough to make her fall. But she stumbled, her hands instinctively stretching out in front of her to balance. The creature made a sound. Almost a chuckle, she thought, as the slow motion world sharpened and a tentacle wrapped around her outstretched wrists.  
  
It was peaceful, really. Well, after the initial sting of all those little barbs sinking into her tender skin. She barely felt the other slimy arm slap her across the face and neck, pricking her pretty peach cheeks, her lips, her chin, her neck. Buffy felt herself sinking and realized she was dropping to her knees, then falling back on her heels, then sliding down into the grass.  
  
The moon was huge and red. Every star twinkled. Every comet blazed. It was pretty.  
  
She heard a voice. A horrendous commotion. Like someone tap dancing on her grave. None of it made any sense. But the shiny yellow stars twinkling were perfect. There was screaming and she felt the ground shake under her, but they were singing now. I didn't know that the stars made noise, Buffy thought.  
  
It was a familiar sound next to her, but she couldn't turn her head. Didn't want to. Couldn't speak. Didn't have to. Her cheeks were wet. Like rain. And then this perfect face above her. She wanted to touch it, but her arms were so tired. So she stared at the pretty blue eyes. The colour of the sky. Buffy lingered there, listening to the stars.  
  
*****  
  
Spike rounded the corner where he'd left her. Alone. Abandoned her there to face that thing. But she was gone. He closed his eyes and tried to still his mind, but not a sound. A movement. A whisper.  
  
He spun, eyes flying open at the sound of commotion. His crypt. Spike raced towards it, following the beasts heavy footprints in the grass. As he rounded the corner of the last of the mausoleums, the world just stopped.  
  
Buffy was on her knees, staring at the creature as if in prayer or in awe. He couldn't see her face. Not clearly. Couldn't see the arm wrapped around her wrists. But Spike hurtled towards them as the demon raised its tentacle and flung it down across her face. Her head snapped back and she crumpled, sliding down herself like a rag doll.  
  
He was in mid air when it struck, diving at the creature, trying to intercept the blow, but he couldn't.... he didn't. He felt it hit her, her head crashing back, bruising her face. Spike couldn't stop it. Not by action. Not by his scream.  
  
He landed, rolling in front of her, grabbing the axe from the doorway. Nothing really made sense after that. Just rage and grief and blow after senseless blow until he heard the thing thud into the Earth. Spike stepped towards its ruined shape and lowered the axe in one final blow to the neck.  
  
The fury died. Spilled out into the night like wax from a candle. He turned, thinking it all wasn't real. Another test. It had all been some sort of hallucination.  
  
But there she was. Lying just as she had that night... the last time he had failed her. The last time he had not been fast enough, or strong enough, or clever enough to save her.  
  
"Buffy?" He crumpled next to her. She gazed up at the stars, unblinking. "Love?" Still she gazed. He could feel the hot tears streak down his face, the primal roar of grief and rage escaping as his sorrow, his failure, rained down on her battered, beautiful face.  
  
She looked cold, he thought, a million screaming demons racing through his mind. He slid his arms under her and pulled her tight against him. She was limp. Like Emma when she slept. Buffy's head fell against him and he realized, as her blank, brilliant, eyes gazed up at his, that she wasn't there at all.  
  
To be contd. 


	14. Away

Title: Away (The Evil Within - Chapter 14) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Spike returns to find that Buffy failed to conquer the demon and has to live with the consequences of his decision. Buffy awakes away from her life. But where is she and who will she come across in her journey? The snake in the garden is revealed and it is time for Quentin to seek his revenge for what happened at the First.  
  
Away  
  
Tara sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a candle glowing bright in front of her. Cyrus watched as she chanted, a swirl of silvery light growing around her. Her voice was quiet, soothing, lulling him into security as she wrapped the spell around them, around the house. The room slipped out of focus and stilled. It wasn't until he heard the distant word 'Frozen' that he realized it.  
  
This wasn't a protection spell at all.  
  
The Evil was within.  
  
Tara hopped to her feet, strolling towards the staircase, humming merrily as she went. Cyrus ordered his body to move, to leap, to throw his life down to protect the child and that for which she stood. But he could not move. His limbs were lifeless. Doll-like. Heavy as lead. His body was anchored to the chair as if he were strapped tightly in a glass box. His mind processed it. His eyes watched it happen. But there was nothing he could do to stop her.  
  
Nothing.  
  
Tara wandered up the stairs with a pleased grin on her sweet face and a song on her pretty, full lips.  
  
*****  
  
"Buffy, please!" Spike pleaded as he held her against him. She was so tiny. How could the Powers have expected someone this small to handle all they had charged her with?, Spike thought. His tears covered her face, but she didn't flinch. Not when he traced the livid welts on her pale skin, her coral lips. Not when he shook her, as if trying to rouse her in the morning when she'd been working way too late. Not when he spoke to her or tried to reach inside her mind. Her body was alive. Warm. Pumping blood at a dangerously slow pace that thumped in his ears like a wind up toy running low. But her soul, his soul, had drifted off like a balloon set free by a child.  
  
"Don't go, Pet," Spike whispered, tracing her face with his fingers, letting his lips brush softly against hers. He could taste her blood. Feel the heat from the horrible wounds. "We've got work to do. Emma... Emma needs her mum. Time to rest later." He knew she could not hear him. She wasn't there to hear his pleas, but he felt he had to try. The thought of living again without her... of explaining to her friends that he had left her there. Explaining it to Dawn. Having to tell Emma what her mum had been like before her father had let her die...  
  
"No!" he roared into the sky, clutching Buffy against him. "No. No. No." His body quaked with sorrow and guilt and anger, but she was still. Those pretty doe eyes still gazing blankly at him.  
  
At least this time he could hold her.  
  
*****  
  
The door to Emma's room creaked open and the light flickered to life. Dawn shook her head, the puppy mirroring her.  
  
"Tara?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Frozen," Tara repeated. Dawn was still, propped upon her elbows on the floor.  
  
Anya stirred, staring up at the Witch. Emma began to fuss in the background, her slumber shattered by light and noise. "Tara?" Anya asked, looking sleepily at her friend. "What's wrong?"  
  
Tara extended a hand to Anya, pulling the startled woman from the recliner. "Nothing," Tara answered, winking slyly.  
  
"But Dawn..."  
  
"Is not your concern," Tara snapped, pushing Anya hard against the wall and pinning her. She pressed her lips hard to the former demon, sucking in her breath. Blowing out the evil. Crumpling to the floor in a frozen heap as Anya took a deep breath and rocked back on her heels.  
  
The wheel had been set in motion once again.  
  
*****  
  
It would have been easier to have taken her into the crypt. To have laid her down in the bed that they had shared in secret for so many nights. But it didn't seem right, Spike thought. To take her there and know that, eventually, he would have to leave her once again to retrieve Emma. Besides, the crypt was not her home. It wasn't his either. It never had been. Merely refuge in the storm. I can't leave her again, he thought. As long as her heart still beats in her chest, as long as she still... is... I won't leave her.  
  
Softly, Spike slid his hand under her knees, scooping her up and slowly standing. She was so fragile now. Like she might break from his touch. As if everything about her that had been the Slayer; his fierce warrior, his passionate lover, had blown away in the breeze or been swallowed by the stars. Spike blinked, barely noticing the steady stream of tears still slipping down his cheeks.  
  
"My fault," he choked as he moved slowly like a man on his wedding aisle, or a funeral procession. "My fault, Love. I should've never left you. Shoulda known that Harris could have handled her what with all the others hanging about. Shoulda helped you first, Pet. Never leaving again. Never walking away. If it takes me forever to get you back, or forever to lose you, I will stay." His words were choked by sobs as he walked. Her pretty green eyes stared still. He wanted to close them. To make her stop... staring that dead stare. But he was afraid. Afraid that if his fingers slid over her eyelids, hiding her, he would never see her again. Like closing a window. So he watched her brilliant, blank, stare with every step.  
  
"I'll get you home, Pet. Fix you up," Spike whispered, brushing blood-matted hair from her battered face. She was so beautiful to him. Even covered in the wounds of a battle lost, her features barely recognizable, she was still the most lovely creature in the world. Spike realized that it would not have mattered what she looked like anymore. He loved her so completely that her beauty was deep inside of him. Of them.  
  
And now she stared blankly into his eyes. Empty inside.  
  
"My fault," he whispered again, sobbing into spun gold hair, clutching her frail frame ever closer. "C'mon, Pet. Forgive me once more. I need you. Emma. Don't leave her behind. She needs her mum. I don't blame you. I understand if... sod it, Love. I'll leave if you want. Give it up. Everything. If you come back. Or stay. Or whatever the bloody hell you want just don't leave us. Alright, Pet?" Spike rambled, madness taking control. He was losing it. Losing her. Losing himself. Losing everything.  
  
He closed his eyes, still walking, plodding towards their home. Spike took a breath, trying to still his mind. Have to keep it together. Not like before, he thought. Niblet was old enough to understand. To give me time and space for selfish rampages and hopeless tears. Emma can't. Have to be strong. Have to get her home. Clean her up. Set about making this right.  
  
Life would be well again once he could think. Could find his way to bring her back. Needed to get her home. Tuck her into their bed. Wrap her round her tot. She'd come back then. Won't leave Emma alone.  
  
A horrible thought crossed his mind just as hope had tried to enter. What if she couldn't come back? Worse yet, what if she did not want to?  
  
*****  
  
"Spike?" Buffy called out, bleary eyed. She was laying in the grass, her hands rubbing her smooth cheeks. "Hunh," she mumbled to herself. "Could have sworn it got me across the face."  
  
Her eyes adjusted and she realized it was daylight. Puffy, blue clouds rolled across a cerulean sky like one of those time lapsed videos on the Discovery Channel. She shook her foggy head, trying to grasp her surroundings. No crypt. No headstones. Just a meadow. Smooth and lush and decidedly non-buggy. A grove of fruit trees stood in the distance. The smell of the sea. The feel of warm sun on her skin.  
  
Buffy surveyed herself. She was barefoot, dressed in a yellow sundress with tiny forget-me-nots embroidered along the silk. Not Slayer wear. Not Slayer territory. Not in Sunnydale anymore, Toto, she thought. Not sure where.  
  
"Spike?" she called again, pushing herself up on decidedly rested legs. She felt amazingly well except for an ache in her belly and a sort of loneliness that she couldn't really place. "Spike?" But there was no answer. "Emma?" she called. Worth a try. The Peacemaker had found her every time she had been lost since... well, since she'd carried her. But nothing. Only the tranquil sound of the distant ocean and the rustle of wind in leaves.  
  
She began to walk towards to grove, trying to figure out where she was and where she was supposed to be. It seemed unlikely that a slimy, gray, tentacly thing would kidnap her to a meadow full of daisies. That's not what demons did to Slayers. Well, except maybe Spike, but he hadn't been very good at the demon-y end of things since they'd met. It seemed much more plausible that she'd hopped dimensions. 'Ha,' she chuckled as she strolled through the soft grass. More believable that I passed into another dimension than was dropped off two towns over in a field. Only in our lives, she thought. Ours. Spike.  
  
A pang of loss and sorrow crashed into her. Spike's alone. We promised no more alone. And Emma. Did he get her in time? Need to get back, she thought, her resolve steeling, her stride quickening although where she was headed seemed uncertain.  
  
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the distance. A familiar, welcome, sweet voice. "Buffy? Buffy is that you?"  
  
Buffy spun on one bare foot and stared at the little alcove in the tree line. What she saw broke her heart and mended it.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
*****  
  
The fire blew plumes of acrid smoke at the roof of the cave. It was rhythmic, entrancing Giles. Hypnotizing him. Paralyzing his mind. The raven-haired beauty stood next to the blaze, tossing what looked like jewels into the endless heat. Little, twinkling jewels.  
  
Like stars.  
  
Footsteps snapped Giles back into the game. The sound of hard-soled dress shoes clicking against stone. Slowly, he lifted his hanging head and looked across the cavern at Quentin. His boss. His mentor. The embodiment of all evil past and all that was to be.  
  
Even in his defeat, there would always be another evil.  
  
"It is time," Quentin said flatly to the woman as he brushed past her. The woman nodded, falling to her knees in submission, her form shifting yet again. The hag slumped over the stone wall surrounding the fire. Chanting. Bobbing. Stretching her hands into the blaze.  
  
"Enjoying the show, old friend?" Quentin asked, sidling up next to Giles. Only he wasn't Quentin anymore. His body was the same, but the blackness beneath, the horrible endless darkness crawled under his skin as if his blood had been replaced by tar. His soul by emptiness.  
  
"We are not friends. We were *never* friends," Giles replied, swallowing against the heinous smell, the arid feel of his throat.  
  
Quentin chortled in response. "Don't suppose we were," he answered, lighting a cigar, slowly, luxuriating in its rich taste, the feel of the smoke curling against his skin. "You were the Ripper. And then you reformed to become Daddy dearest to an orphaned ragamuffin. How dear of you? To sacrifice your own life for her meaningless contentment."  
  
"I will gladly sacrifice it if you stop this, Quentin. If anything good or decent is left in your black heart, you won't harm the child."  
  
"Sorry to say, old man, but there is not. Nothing *you* would label good or decent. Not in your utopic world of black and white. You used to see the gray, Rupert. But the Slayer changed you. Not for the better, I might add." The former Watcher took a long draw from his cigar, letting the smoke curl around Giles' defenseless face. "Besides, the child is not a *child*. Just as you are not simply a Watcher, nor your Slayer, nor her Vampire... None of us are what we walk around pretending to be. The girl is older than us all, and a force more powerful than even the One.."  
  
"A force for good," Giles countered.  
  
"As you see it. She is ... not so... to me."  
  
"She is a *baby*," Giles pleaded. "A little girl, Quentin. Even at your worst... butchering an innocent?"  
  
" I will gladly kill you all," Quentin responded flatly, taking another inhale from his smoke. "But *she* is my prize. Not an innocent at all, really. She's an extension of the Powers. That which created you and your merry band of buggereds, but also that which created *me*. It's Cain and Abel. A biblical justice."  
  
"No religion condones... this," Giles commented, shaking his head, wanting to break free and rid the world of this plague.  
  
"I am my own religion," Quentin continued. "To put it simply, as your brain seems to be sorting information at a dangerously lethargic rate, I make the rules here. I force fate to comply..."  
  
A noise interrupted Quentin's latest tirade as the flames shot up, licking the roof of the cavern. Quentin squealed in almost a childlike joy as the fire receded, leaving only the imprint of a star smoldering against the cold stone ceiling.  
  
"It has begun."  
  
*****  
  
Anya stood stock still, her mind reeling, eyes adjusting to the now dark room. Where she stood seemed distant, yet she could feel her bare feet in the thick carpet and the cool air from the window brushing her hair from her cheeks. She extended her arms in front of her, staring at her hands.  
  
It seemed as if they had been set ablaze and she winced instinctively, shaking her palms as one would after pulling wet dishes from the sink. But there was no pain. No hurt. No anything.  
  
The flames subsided and she stared once again at her smoldering palms. All that was left was a faint glow. A small star still painlessly ablaze in her left palm. Anya studied it, her mind focusing, but not processing the information. As if she knew what but not why. A mindless automaton, as Spike liked to complain.  
  
Why?  
  
Anya noticed another faint glow in the dark. She walked towards it, finding only a small child laying quietly, a warm brightness emanating from the back of her neck. The Star. Anya reached into the cradle, allowing her palm to touch against the brightness. To mingle with it. To feel the child come to her, cuddling warmly, willingly, against her chest. Tiny, soft breaths caressing the former demon's cheeks. Anya closed her eyes, but what was behind them was more than she could bear.  
  
A dagger hung weightlessly in the air before her. The handle was ivory, an eye meticulously carved into the stone. Around the eye, a dragon, coiled, its eyes glowing red. A voice inside of her spoke. An old voice.  
  
"The Key."  
  
To be contd. 


	15. Taken

Title: Taken (The Evil Within - Chapter 15) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: The Evil finally finds the child. Will anyone be able to help her? Spike brings Buffy home and tries to fashion a way to bring her back to them. Buffy, meanwhile, is in the space between where she is reunited with her mother and also someone else...  
  
Taken  
  
Sometimes, that which is against our very nature is the simplest course of action. Maybe it is because these acts are done without malice of forethought, but rather in the haste of blinding confusion or complete loss of control. It should have been hard, Anya thought, as she looked upon an act that seemed to have happened in the past but that she was, in fact, performing as she looked back upon it. It should have been horrific, even torturous, to hold that innocent in one arm and reach for the dagger with the other. To let the baby nuzzle her hair and softly kiss her cheek as she bent down to another, older child. It should have, it would have, pained her to take Dawn's frozen arm and turn it slowly, letting the dagger pierce the girl. To watch her blood hit the floor. It should have hurt. She should have fought.  
  
But it didn't. *She* didn't.  
  
As the portal opened in front of Anya, and as she stepped through, clutching the child to her chest, the vision of the teenager lying wounded on the floor simply disappeared. Yet one more casualty of fate.  
  
*****  
  
"Mom?" Buffy repeated, half stumbling, half running, towards the tree line. A serene smile broke on the older woman's face as her arms stretched out in front of her. Buffy ran faster, harder, not wanting to lose sight of her. Wanting desperately for this to be real.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"Buffy," Joyce answered, pulling the girl into her arms, engulfing her tiny frame. Buffy buried her face in her mother's blouse, inhaling the scent of Chanel and vanilla shampoo. Her arms wrapped around her mom, feeling her warmth. She was solid. Real.  
  
It seemed as if she stayed wrapped in her for hours, wanting to stay there an eternity longer. But Buffy knew. She knew there were questions. There might even be answers. And there was a man she had made a promise to and her own daughter who needed to be held.  
  
Buffy lifted her teary face and looked up at Joyce. Her mother smiled, stroking back Buffy's hair. "Mom... am I dead?"  
  
"Nope," her mother answered quietly.  
  
"Then how?"  
  
"They brought us here," Joyce continued. "To the place between."  
  
"Us?" Buffy asked, crinkling her nose, but still clinging to her mother. "The place between?"  
  
"It's not quite life, not quite death. Kind of like the place between awake and asleep. It's a spot where the living still exist and the dead can live again."  
  
Buffy thought for a moment. "So, I'm still alive and you...."  
  
"Yes," Joyce interrupted. "But don't be sad, Buffy. It's nice where I am. You know that."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy answered, blinking back tears. "Kind of like home without all the fighting and massive laundry."  
  
Joyce chuckled, leading Buffy to a chair. It didn't seem odd at all that there was a well-appointed sitting room complete with tea set tucked in among the trees. "You've done a wonderful job with Dawn," Joyce continued. "She's coming up so nicely." She poured a cup of tea and handed it to Buffy. "Decaf, better for..."  
  
"It wasn't me," Buffy confessed. "When you ... left... I fell apart. And then, well I died..."  
  
"Buffy, you don't have to..."  
  
"Spike, he took care of her. Made her do her homework and clean up and... I tried but ..."  
  
"Spike just started you out, Buffy. He showed you what you already knew," Joyce answered. "He's been good for you."  
  
Buffy was silent, toying with the handle of her tea cup. "You know that... that Spike and I..."  
  
"That you live together? That you have a little girl?" Joyce queried. "I can see you everyday, Buffy. I know that Emma is beautiful and perfect and most of all, happy. I know that she has *two* good parents. I also know how she came to be."  
  
"Well, you explained that when I was about fifteen," Buffy quipped, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
"I know that there wasn't any, commitment, when you became pregnant. That it wasn't a ... relationship."  
  
Buffy looked at her knees. Even in the ever after, embarrassing conversations with mom weren't any easier. "No," she finally said. "At least not from my side."  
  
"Yes, I think that he had made up his mind when he met you. But that's all in the past. Things have certainly changed now, haven't they?" Joyce said, smiling that motherly I-Knew-All-Along smile.  
  
Buffy grinned, watching her mother revel in her win. "You always liked him. Never understood that then. But to answer your question, I don't think that it gets more commit-y than the whole One thing."  
  
"And you seem happy, Buffy. I haven't seen you this happy since you were a little girl," Joyce added, leaning back in her chair and curling her legs under her. She stirred sugar into her cup and watched her daughter blush, savouring her every movement. Her every expression.  
  
"It's good to have someone who..." Buffy stopped short, not wanting to say it the wrong way. Not wanting to hurt the one person she had loved all her life.  
  
"It's okay, Buffy," Joyce said, smiling reassuringly. "Who understands you."  
  
"Mom, I couldn't... I didn't expect you to," Buffy answered, fidgeting with her teacup. Joyce leaned forward, setting her cup on the table and settling her hand on Buffy's knee.  
  
"I wasn't meant to, Buffy. If you've learned anything since I've been gone, it's that we all have our place, both in life and in eternity. Mine was to set you on your path. To bring you into this world just like you brought Emma, and to watch over you until you were old enough for destiny to take you. I didn't understand that then, but you learn a lot when you're on the outside looking in," Joyce explained, her voice soft and patient.  
  
"You make it sound so... unimportant," Buffy commented, studying her mother's face.  
  
"Cosmically speaking, it is," she answered, "But to me, it was everything. I can live with that." Joyce leaned back, again smiling at Buffy in the way she always had. That warm, comforting, mom-smile that made everything alright.  
  
"It's really not that different for me now," Buffy said almost shyly. " I mean, Emma, she's..."  
  
"Peace," Joyce interjected.  
  
"It's bigger than me. Than Spike. We're just there to watch her until it's her turn and then.."  
  
"It doesn't work that way for everyone, Buffy. Not for you. Or Spike. Or Emma," Joyce replied, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Some people's jobs are not that simple."  
  
*****  
  
The house was dark and silent. Not that Spike was really paying much attention. All he could do was stare into her pretty eyes and listen to the sound of her shallow breath. Feel the emptiness in his arms, his mind, his spirit. Sense his heart breaking. Despair had turned to madness had turned to hopelessness had turned to numbness. All in the course of two miles. Even in his silent, horrified, stupor, he clutched her shell against him, vowing to her over and over that he wouldn't leave.  
  
The door was unlocked. Spike kicked it open with the toe of his boot. He didn't notice that the lights were all extinguished or that the house was devoid of chatter or barking or any noise at all. To be honest, that apocalypse could have dropped in a fiery rain from the heavens and Spike could have done nothing more than to walk, holding her against him, until they were consumed by fate.  
  
He took the stairs slowly, not because of awkwardness or fatigue, but rather because of fear. Some tiny ray of hope kept creeping in, forcing some inane human part of his poet's mind to believe that laying her in her bed, in their bed, and giving her over to her child would save her as it had saved him. 'All wounds suffered in my name,' he heard the Peacemaker's rich, smooth voice echo in his mind. If that failed, he would kiss her and she would flicker to life like a fairy tale princess.  
  
Only this wasn't a fairy tale. And he was a Vampire, not Prince Sodding Charming.  
  
Spike arrived at the landing, rounding the corner to their room. He stopped, closing his eyes, inhaling, as if it took all of his strength to move on. But he stepped over the threshold and carried her to bed.  
  
*****  
  
"What do you mean, it's not that simple?" Buffy asked, her brow furrowed at the though of a forever lack of easy.  
  
"We all have roles to play," Joyce answered tentatively, "and when our role is completed, we are set free. Sometimes it's a very small part. Sometimes a recurring one. And sometimes, the role is the point of the story."  
  
"You lost me," Buffy commented, sipping her tea.  
  
"OK," Joyce said, readjusting in her seat and taking a long, slow breath. "Take a movie for example. Pick one, preferably one with sequels."  
  
"Um, don't get to go to the movies much. I work nights..."  
  
"Buffy," Joyce admonished.  
  
"Alright, already. How about....'Die Hard'? Xander and Spike both like that movie, even if they still won't sit in the same room to watch it half the time."  
  
"OK," her mother said, smiling an amused little grin. "Think of the writers like... The Powers. They make everything happen. Write the rules. Set the stage."  
  
"Alright," Buffy said, nodding. "I get that."  
  
"Some people are only in the movie for a short time. Like the cab driver or the baggage claim man. They play their part, then never come back."  
  
"So, you're saying that's like you?" Buffy asked, her nose crinkling unhappily at the idea.  
  
"For these purposes, yes," Joyce answered. "Then some people have a bigger role in one movie and might even show up in the next."  
  
"Like the twinkie cop guy," Buffy gushed, catching on.  
  
"Right. Look at them like your friends. Willow, Xander..."  
  
"Okay," Buffy giggled. "Xander does have a thing about twinkies."  
  
"Getting off topic," Joyce warned, stifling her own giggle. "But some people are the main characters. The ones without which the story can't exist. The world would cease to be without them."  
  
Buffy thought a moment. "So, you're saying that Spike and I, and Emma, are main characters in a movie?"  
  
"A big, endless, cosmic movie," Joyce answered. "And it's not just the three of you. There are more. The parts are occasionally re cast, but the characters *must* exist or there *is* no world."  
  
"So, it's never over?" Buffy asked, tensing both inside and out.  
  
"Not unless you lose, or the Powers decide that the movie is over."  
  
"Not much incentive to win," Buffy quipped in reply.  
  
"Except for saving the world as you know it for your children and your children's' children..."  
  
"And for puppies and Christmas," Buffy pointed out.  
  
"That too," her mother agreed. "Look at it this way. At least you'll never be alone."  
  
Buffy was silent, trying to take it all in. To make sense of something so much bigger and so much more powerful than any of them. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. A door which hadn't been there when they sat down. A house that had appeared around them as they had been talking. Buffy jumped nervously, scanning her surroundings. Joyce chuckled, patting Buffy's shoulder as she crossed the room gracefully, heading for the door.  
  
"So sorry to disturb you, Ms. Summers," a smooth, male voice said quietly from outside the door. Buffy could not see him from her position in the room. She craned her head over the back of her chair, but could not get a good angle. "They sent me here," the voice continued.  
  
"You're not disturbing us at all," Joyce said warmly. "I've been expecting you." She moved to the side, clearing the entrance and a figure walked into the room. Handsome and perfect and oddly familiar, even if his hair was a little out of date.  
  
Buffy blinked, the realization hitting her like a tidal wave.  
  
"Buffy," Joyce said, taking the young man's arm and walking towards her daughter. "I'd like you to meet William."  
  
To be contd. 


	16. Anew

Title: Anew (The Evil Within - Chapter 16) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Anya is taken by the Evil and abducts Emma. But will she have a change of heart? Spike brings Buffy home. Buffy discovers new information that changes the course of her destiny, but will she be able to return to her life? Will she want to?  
  
Anew  
  
Anya walked steadily towards the dim glow ahead of her. It wasn't like any portal through which she'd passed before. No long drops, not fiery descents, no poof and you're there. Just a long, slow, stroll into the heart of darkness, following only a pinprick of light.  
  
Emma had fussed at first, but soon succumbed to the mind numbing automation ith which Anya moved. The stillness of her thoughts, as the woman walked, was unnerving to the child, but numbed her all the same. The baby settled, arms across Anya's collarbones, tiny thumb tucked between little pink lips, chin pressing into the flesh of Anya's shoulder, looking back. Wanting to go home. Knowing in even her toddler mind, that she couldn't. She wouldn't be going back.  
  
For in this dimension, and indeed they had never left, she was still just a child. Defenseless and Harmless, being carried to her fate like a lamb to slaughter.  
  
*****  
  
Spike lay Buffy down on the bed so gently that the tired springs barely creaked against her feathery weight. Buffy's clothes were tattered, skin torn. Lying there so small, she almost seemed like a child herself. She was, really, Spike thought. It was only her spirit that made her a woman. That made her strong.  
  
His first thought upon freeing his arms was to run and get Emma. To bring her in and lay her down with Buffy until the elder girl flickered to life. He spun on the thick heel of his boot, turning towards the door, then glanced back over his shoulder at her. A wave of guilt crashed over him for even setting her down. Spike paused, his mind racing like a frightened rabbit. Get Emma. Don't leave Buffy. Bring Buffy back. Can't hurt Emma. Don't want Emma to see her mum like this. Get scared, the tot. No one should see the one they love so...  
  
Torn.  
  
Spike listened to the house. It was silent save for slow, even breaths. Asleep. The lot of them. He spun again on the same boot heel, regarding Buffy's tattered frame and tears rushed back into his eyes. "I did this," he whispered, feeling the madness creeping back. "I did this."  
  
Slowly, he walked back to the bed, sitting down next to her legs, letting his hand skim over the outside of her thigh. It was real. She was real. The horror was everything but an illusion. And he just let it happen.  
  
Spike leaned forward, unbuttoning what was left of her blouse, wincing at the livid bruises on her pale skin. Purple and black and angry and yelling up at him. Screaming up from her flesh. 'You did this.'  
  
His fingers fumbled against the buttons, his hands shaking. Every inch of skin was a different colour. Carefully, he pulled her up, pushing the heavy duster and the torn shirt from her wounded shoulders. Unclasping her bra in a move that usually made him quiver with anticipation, but now only made him want to sob. To grieve. To go with her. Anywhere so he could feel her warm and alive in his arms again.  
  
Bruises, claw marks, knife wounds, barbs. From the ribs up, she was hardly recognizable. The world had used her for a voodoo doll, he thought. And he just left her there to be used.  
  
Spike managed to finish undressing her, choking back sobs and the urge to be sick at the thought of all that had happened in less than an hour's time. He stood, trying to breathe, taking in her marred, perfect, form. "C'mon, Love," he whispered, brushing her hair from her cheeks. "Let's get you cleaned up so you can visit with the Mite, alright?" With a gentle sigh, he lifted her, carrying her to the bathroom, holding her while he ran her bath, hoping that maybe the chill breeze against the cold walls, or the sound of the water might rouse her. But she lay motionless, her blank stare trained on him.  
  
Even as Spike lowered her into the water, holding her steady with one trembling hand, she just sat there like a doll. Carefully, meticulously, he cleaned every wound. Watching the water turn red, his hands tinting pink with her blood. He tried to look at her face, but every time he met her eyes, an almost retching sob caught in his throat. So he talked. It was more a comfort to him than to her, but it was better than the sound of the water rippling as his hands moved, or the sounds of bubbles bursting as he washed her hair.  
  
"Love, you're gonna hafta do better than this to get rid of us, you know," he began, fighting the urge to break apart. His accent thickened as he spoke. "Not letting some stupid sodding demon make off with you.. You're tougher than that, Love. Said it yourself, you did. Always tell me how bloody tough you are. Going to kick you back across the pond, Spike," he mimicked his voice raising. "Mop the floor with you, you evil, soulless thing." His voice settled back to his low, soft tone. He chuckled senselessly. "And you did. Several times over. So, why's this one any different, Pet? You're a stubborn 'lil bint," he snapped, while tenderly washing her face, carefully keeping the soap from slipping into her unblinking eyes. "Always has to be your bloody way. Your time. So, don't tell *me* that this is the way you wan' it all to end. All roughed up by a hulking great lummox. You gonna let that soddin' bastard beat you? That it, Pet? Well, you got another thing coming," Spike announced, lifting her freshly washed and scented body from the water like a baby from a baptismal fountain.  
  
Clean. Born anew.  
  
Spike sat down on the counter, holding her in his lap. He wrapped a towel around her. Gently he rubbed her hair dry with a second. His strong words in stark contrast with his heartbreakingly tender movements. "Not gonna happen. You wanted your bloody normal life and you got it. You wanted your domesticated house pet, and you got that too. And I even got you a sodding pooch to boot. You had to have this *regular* life even though you're the Slayer. Not a regular girl, you. I'm a Vampire. Not the way is s'possed to work, Love. But you got your way. Bossy chit. Now you want to leave it behind? Wanna leave me? Your little girl....?"  
  
The sound of Emma's name slipping over his lips broke his stride and the diatribe stopped. His tone was soft now. Gentle. "You aren't leaving her, Pet. You can do what you want to me, but you aren't leaving her. Alright, Love?" He leaned down, kissing the tip of her nose, feeling the tears start fresh in his eyes.  
  
Spike wanted to be angry. Furious. Slip into a demon rage that would carry him through without... feeling. But all he could muster was a crippling grief. And guilt. He wrapped her in a fluffy, blue robe that smelled like vanilla and night jasmine. It smelled like her. It was impossible for him to move for a long while. He buried his face in her damp hair and let the tears fall like rain.  
  
*****  
  
They stood in front of Buffy, her arm hooked through his in a gesture of polite nonchalance. Joyce was smiling. She smiles... smiled... a lot, Buffy thought. Always with the random thoughts when stressed. William stared at her, cocking his head in a subtle gesture of recognition. Buffy blinked, remembering the move. The tilt of the head. She blinked again.  
  
"Buffy, where are your manners?" Joyce reprimanded cheerfully. She walked to her daughter and clapped her hand over Buffy's shoulder. Buffy stood, staring wide-eyed at the figure in front of her. His mouth broke into a soft grin as their eyes met.  
  
"H... hello," Buffy said, almost shyly. "I... I'm Buffy." She held out her hand. He took it softly, bowing slightly and taking her palm to his, lifting her hand to his soft lips and kissing her as gently as if a butterfly had alighted on her skin.  
  
"Enchanted," he answered, lowering her arm delicately. She clasped her hands nervously over her belly and stared up at him. He looked so much... he was him... really. Except William's hair was chestnut and his skin was tan, muting his eyes to a softer hue. And there were no scars. None at all.  
  
A gentle nudge from her mother brought Buffy to her senses. "Not polite to stare," Joyce whispered in her ear. William smiled as Buffy blushed a deep shade of red.  
  
"It... it's just," Buffy stuttered. "You're... you're him."  
  
"Not exactly," William answered, his tone quiet, his accent closer to Giles or Wesley than to Spike. He barely noticed his own stares. Spellbound by her delicate beauty.  
  
"Well, before..." Buffy countered.  
  
"Sort of," he answered, completing her sentences as if they were his own. "We are different, Spike and I. But somehow the same."  
  
"I... I don't understand," Buffy stammered. "Spike... he has a soul now. How... how can you be?"  
  
"It's not my soul," William said simply. "It's yours. Well, it's not quite that either but..."  
  
"Hunh?" Buffy asked, crinkling her nose and shaking her head slightly.  
  
"Your soul is in Heaven. Where you left it when..." Joyce began.  
  
"Again with the hunh?" Buffy questioned, her face now wholly contorted in confusion. William smiled.  
  
"Way with words, has she?" he said to Joyce, a slight tinge of polite sarcasm lacing his words.  
  
"Would someone mind explaining?" Buffy sighed.  
  
"Which part?" Joyce asked, brushing her child's hair back from her cheeks.  
  
"Start with the soul thing," Buffy began. "Who's soul does Spike have? What happened to mine? "  
  
"Spike has his share of the soul of the One," William answered in cryptic Prophesy-speak. "Which has nothing at all to do with me."  
  
"Nothing?" Buffy asked.  
  
"No," he answered, frankly.  
  
"And me? What about mine?"  
  
"You have your share of the One," Joyce answered. "Which you had all along. Plus a good portion of Spike's."  
  
"But you said I left it in Heaven when.." Buffy yammered, frustrated with the conversation.  
  
"Buffy," Joyce said calmly, trying to counteract the rising anger in Buffy's tone. "Your sacrifice for Dawn ended your life."  
  
"But I came back. I'm a mortal. I have a soul." Always fall back on the basics, Buffy thought.  
  
"You did go back," Joyce agreed, toying with the hair now tucked behind Buffy's ear. "But up until the moment you leapt, there was a choice."  
  
"A choice?" The thought gave her nose and brow another crinkle.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What choice?"  
  
"Inside of you was the soul of the One, but also the mortal soul of a girl. Buffy Summers. Another bit player, like me. The decision you made the night you jumped was a test. The Powers placed it there to see if you were truly made to be the One. Actually, it was for both of you. Spike tried. He had the courage and the love, but he wasn't ready yet. But you. You leapt. Dawn lived. You chose," Joyce explained patiently.  
  
"Is that why Spike didn't... why we didn't... until...?" Buffy squeaked out, her thoughts as jumbled as her speech.  
  
"Spike was given a second chance with Willow," William answered, slyly smiling. "Of course, the Powers already knew that he was the Vampire for which they had searched. They knew as soon as the other Vampire had abandoned you."  
  
"Angel," Buffy sighed, a note of surprise in her voice.  
  
"Poof," William uttered. It sounded comical coming from his elegant lips in his distinguished voice. Buffy stifled a chuckle. Joyce shot the young man an evil glance.  
  
"When you died," Joyce continued, "You made a choice. The mortal soul of the girl was returned to Heaven. You returned to Earth now carrying only the soul of the One."  
  
"So, there's a me where you come from?" Buffy asked, looking up at her mother in mild disbelief.  
  
"Yes," Joyce answered. "Only she has no memories of the Slayer side of you. She exists as any other mortal who has lived and died. In her memories, she was a high school cheerleader who fell to her death."  
  
Buffy swallowed hard, still staring at her mother. Thoughts flew through her mind like leaves in a tornado. "This... this isn't real. Did Anya grant another wish? I mean the last time there were two me's and..."  
  
"Anya?" William asked Joyce.  
  
"Vengeance demon," Joyce spouted casually to the boy, waving her hand to dismiss the subject.  
  
"Oh," William replied, nodding in understanding.  
  
"I'm afraid not," Joyce said softly to her obviously frightened daughter. "If that were it, then this would be easy to undo."  
  
"Simple?" Buffy muttered. "Undo?"  
  
It was Joyce's turn to swallow deeply. "Buffy, the In Between is not just some dimension you can pop into and out of at will."  
  
"What... what do you mean?" Buffy questioned, leaning her weight against the back of the chair as if bracing herself against a swoon.  
  
"Leaving this place is easy for us," Joyce said calmly, evenly. "Because we are going to Heaven. It's kind of like an open border once you've been admitted. Like paddling down stream."  
  
"Returning to your time, against the stream, is much more... involved," William added.  
  
"Involved?" Buffy repeated, fear and anger rising in her voice. A sudden, terrible desire to get home poured through her. She had to get back to Emma. To him. Her him.  
  
"I'm afraid so," William answered, looking away from Buffy's tortured face.  
  
Buffy was silent, taking a deep breath as if readying herself for battle. "What do I do?"  
  
"There's not much you *can* do," Joyce replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "There are only three options, and only one is even partly in your control."  
  
"What?" Buffy asked, annoyance rising. "What do I do to go back? What are the options?"  
  
Both William and Joyce remained quiet, staring at each other in a silent understanding. They knew that what they had to offer was not going to please a Slayer who had grown used to control. "The first," William began, "is blood sacrifice."  
  
"What?" The girl gasped, spinning towards William with an almost preternatural speed and grace.  
  
William was taken aback, not used to the feral side of a woman. This woman. It was exciting, but terrifying. A creature as pretty as the sunrise and as dangerous as the Powers themselves. He swallowed, then continued. "If, while your heart still beats in your chest, a blood sacrifice is made in the name of your child, you will be returned, unharmed."  
  
"What kind of sacrifice?" Buffy asked, fear replacing anger.  
  
"The Fates will choose. One who was present at the First," Joyce answered.  
  
"Back up," the Slayer snapped, her head jerking back to her mother. "The First?"  
  
"It's a long story, Buffy," Joyce responded kindly. "But for now, just think of it in terms of the Prophesy. The First was when the Powers split the soul of the One."  
  
"O...OK," Buffy answered, her hands fluttering nervously around her waist, her face growing more pale and solemn by the word.  
  
"The Fates will choose a sacrifice," Joyce repeated. "It could be anyone present at the first except for Spike. His death will simply reunite the One in this dimension. The One united cannot be denied passage between the worlds. So, it has to be another. And they must sacrifice themselves willingly."  
  
"Die," Buffy said, bluntly. "To save me?" The tears began to build behind her eyes.  
  
"Not just you," Joyce said. "All of you. Spike, Emma..."  
  
"What?" She blinked away the angry tears and glared at her mother.  
  
"Spike," William said softly, diverting her gaze to him. "Cannot save you from this place. Even if he were to cross into this place, he cannot remove you, and he could not stay."  
  
"But if someone does not sacrifice," Buffy stuttered, "he's in danger? Emma?"  
  
"It's more human than you are thinking," Joyce replied warmly. "He will live, but only for Emma. When your body dies, he will inherit your half of the One. Spike is not equipped to handle that. You could not have for much longer. That is why the Powers divided the One at the First. The burden of the soul, and the weight of his heart for causing your death, will eventually kill him. He will take Emma to maturity, then let go. Without you, and without Spike, Emma is defenseless."  
  
Buffy stayed quiet, the thought of leaving them there, of Spike thinking that he let this happen, crushing her. Her hand fluttered to her cheek, brushing a tear from her skin. William hesitated, reaching towards her pale face almost instinctively, but pulling back mere inches from her cheek. "So, what else?" Buffy asked, taking a deep breath.  
  
"You can choose to remain here," William answered. "In the place in between until your mortal body dies. The demon that attacked you did far more damage than intended. Without your spirit, your essence, your *will*, your body will give up fairly quickly." His voice was sweet, rich, sorrowful. William could no longer bring his eyes to meet hers.  
  
It hurt Buffy to hear his voice. A pang of loss shot through her once again.  
  
"We can stay with you," Joyce said quietly. "Either one of us. Or both of us, to make it easier. Until it's over."  
  
"It?" Buffy snapped, spinning towards her mother. "You mean me?"  
  
"Buffy," Joyce sighed. "*You* are here. What is left there is a shell."  
  
"But you said before that if my body dies, then Spike will inherit the whole soul of the One, and that it will kill him."  
  
"Yes,' William answered. "But if you choose to stay, your sacrifice will make it possible for Spike to carry the burden alone. The whole soul, unharmed. But it is the choice, your choice, that makes that possible. Without that, it will kill him."  
  
Her mind was now a frenzy of torment and loss. "What's the other choice?"  
  
"Emma," William replied. The way he said it. She could hear Spike. Feel him. They were so different, but so much alike. The tenderness in William's voice. Buffy closed her eyes and saw Spike in her head, but could not reach him. The loneliness was overwhelming.  
  
"Emma?" The name slipped from her mouth as if it were magical. Simply put, it was.  
  
"Just as with Spike, she can retrieve you. Heal you in her name. However, to do this, she must be near you. She must be able to touch your mortal body."  
  
"Like with Spike's sword wound?" Buffy asked, her voice now almost childlike.  
  
"Exactly," he answered, smiling softly at her.  
  
"Well, Spike would think of that. He knows. He was there. "  
  
"He does remember. He knows..." William stumbled.  
  
"Then why am I still here?" Fear coursed through her like a river raging over rocks. She flailed her arms as she asked the question as if batting her wings might carry her home.  
  
"Because she's gone, Buffy," Joyce answered softly. William's eyes dropped away once again. Even Joyce could barely look at the range of emotions passing over Buffy's pale face. The mother's hand fell to the small of Buffy's back; steadying her against the weak kneed shudder she knew would follow.  
  
Buffy's eyes flew open and she grabbed the chair white knuckled. "Gone? What?"  
  
"Draconius... Quentin, has her," Joyce continued. "And she cannot be saved by anyone but you. And you cannot be saved by anyone but her."  
  
"So, I die," Buffy gushed, beginning to sob. "I leave them behind or someone dies for us?"  
  
Joyce nodded quietly. Solemnly.  
  
"That's not a *choice*," the girl screamed, bolting from the room out into the sunlight, running full speed into nowhere..  
  
"Buffy!" her mother called desperately, beginning to jog after her.  
  
"Please," William said, catching Joyce's wrist. "Let me talk to her."  
  
Joyce looked at the young man, his eyes soft and pleading. She saw it too. That little glimmer of Spike. Or maybe it was the little glimmers of William that she'd seen in the Vampire. But she nodded at him and watched him lope though the door, calling Buffy's name.  
  
To be contd. 


	17. Seaside

Title: Seaside (The Evil Within - Chapter 17) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: William confronts Buffy in the In Between and tells her things about her life, and Spike's, that changes her views. Spike finds out that there is something more amiss in their home. Anya delivers Emma to her final destination. What will it take to save the girls? And does Spike have anything left in him to save them?  
  
Seaside  
  
He found her sitting in the white sand on the edge of a cerulean sea. It was tranquil. Peaceful. Doves bobbed and flitted in the air. Out of place but somehow perfect against the powder blue sky and fluffy white clouds. The white-tipped waves spilled lazily to the shore, kissing it tenderly in a rhythmic symphony. It was paradise, really. More perfect than heaven, William thought, as he slowed from his striding lope to a hesitant walk at the sight of her. If only she thought so.  
  
Buffy sat in the soft, white sand, knees pressed against her chest, toes just barely wetted each time the sea kissed the land. Her pretty hair was windblown and wild, but shone like spun gold as the rays of light splashed against her. She rocked herself, clasping her legs, her head buried against her knees. Fear and sorrow radiated from her. Out of place, William thought, but strangely fitting.  
  
William stepped slowly from grass to sand, pausing long enough to remove his shoes and socks, laying them neatly on the edge of the grass. There was something about the feel of sand against skin. Irritating but cleansing. A dichotomy of the senses. Just like the creature before him: beautiful and deadly, compassionate and cruel, innocent and sexy and everything that his outdated Victorian sensibilities had once told him to be frightened of. But one's growth as a spirit did not end in death. He had learned from watching his body go on and had realized that what was behind her pretty eyes and primal soul was a beauty of which he could have written his truest epic and that stirred his very heart and soul.  
  
"Buffy?" William said softly, politely, when he stood a mere five feet from her huddled form. If she had noticed him before that moment, she had not let it on.  
  
The girl's head lifted and heavy, almost golden eyes stared up at him. Wet, sad eyes and tearstained cheeks. She was silent, but her childlike face spoke volumes. Those endless green-gold eyes pierced him and he felt his own tears build.  
  
William was not Spike, but he had shaped him. Spike's human memories, preferences, sensibilities, his softer side, was William. When the demon had forced his soul from his body, it left the imprint of the rejected, sensitive poet who had gone before. So no, they were not the same. But it was the William in Spike that had loved beauty. This beauty. It was the man that William had left behind that had made Spike worthy of the One.  
  
"Buffy," William said again, his eyes trained on hers. It came out almost as a sigh, an escape of air as he lowered himself next to her. "We should talk."  
  
"There's nothing to talk about," she replied weakly, her eyes wandering to the gently rolling sea.  
  
"There is, Buffy," he answered slowly. "And you need someone." The words came out cautiously, but he could feel her tense.  
  
"I *need* Spike," she snarled, her jaw clenched, making her cheeks hard and smooth as stone. "And you are *not* him."  
  
"No," William answered simply. "I don't suppose that I am. But I *am* part of him. And I'm all you've got."  
  
The words hit Buffy like a hurricane. Flashes of peroxide hair and a flurry of leather spun through her mind as the words triggered something, some memory, inside of her. She could hear Spike uttering the phrase. Back when he thought she didn't listen. Buffy turned her head towards the man next to her and studied him closely.  
  
Beautiful blue eyes, a colour somewhere between the sea and the sky. The razor sharp cheekbones, carved into the marble polish of his strong face. He looked so much like Spike. Only without the scars. She found herself wondering if the other Buffy looked like an unmarked version of herself.  
  
It occurred to Buffy in a brief moment of clarity, that it was the scars that had shaped them both. The zig-zag in his eyebrow, the scars on his legs from the organ, the fine slice along his ribs. The cut under her ribs, her few tiny stretch marks, and the bites on her neck. The scars inside them both. They spoke to who they were and who they had become. Like roadmaps from the William and Buffy of heaven to the Spike and Buffy who had joined.  
  
"C...can you help me?" Buffy asked, pleading with the man next to her on the seashore.  
  
"I don't know," William answered quietly, holding his hand towards her, palm toward the sky. She stared at his wide palm. Even his hands told stories. Broad and curved and smooth. Softly, she let her hand drop inside his palm. It was more a gesture of understanding, of friendship, of acceptance, than one of love. But it slowed Buffy's mind enough to think.  
  
"Do you know what's going to happen? To me? To Spike? E...emma?" Buffy asked. William stared off at the sea, tossing a pebble into a wave with his free hand.  
  
"I know that you won't like this," he began, "But it's up to Fate and the Powers."  
  
"You're right," Buffy said, frankly. "I don't like it."  
  
William was quiet, listening to the lapping sounds of the waves and feeling her small warm hand in his. "I believe," he said, finally turning back to face her, "that we all must succumb to Destiny. However, I also believe that we can effect what Fate wants for us. What she chooses, by how we act and what we believe."  
  
"What do you mean?" Buffy asked curiously. William studied the way her nose crinkled when she asked a question. The way her eyes softened when she listened.  
  
"My... situation," William said. "I was weak, but I was also destined to become a Vampire. Still, I didn't even fight it, Buffy." His face looked tortured, thinking about it. Buffy watched him, tracing his features in her mind and the million expressions he could make with just his eyes.  
  
"I was so desperately unhappy with my life that I practically threw myself at Destiny's feet. Once the demon took me, it was as if I could watch my life, or at least my Vampire life, as one would watch a play. The interesting part is that time has no meaning in heaven. I can watch 1892 and 2002 simultaneously."  
  
"You can?" Buffy asked, quirking her lips and furrowing her brow in an expression that made William smile.  
  
"Yes, and it's rather enlightening. But back to my point. The One was in flux for thousands of years. You had been chosen long ago, and a Vampire as your mate. The two to reunite the soul. It was supposed to be the other one. The dark one."  
  
"Angel?" Buffy muttered, her eyebrows arching.  
  
"Yes," William answered. "Don't ask me why. Notice I haven't seen Liam's human soul floating round the Heavens."  
  
"William?" Buffy interrupted, stifling a grin. It seemed that a dislike of Angel was a trait William shared with her version. He settled down, giving her hand a little squeeze.  
  
"Right," William said, nodding. "But Spike, who did not have the same... advantages... as the other, still had decided that he loved you and that he was the one that was best for you. He believed it in every fiber of his body and spirit. Even managed to convince his demon of his love. He of the Heart. The Powers took notice. They also took notice that Angel thought it best to abandon you so they changed course. In the blink of an eye, and ancient prophesy was no more. The Vampire with a Soul became the Vampire with a Heart. Fate was redirected and your destiny joined to his."  
  
Buffy looked back at the sea, then up at the clouds. "How can you know that?" she asked. "How can you know what the Powers wanted or what they did?"  
  
"Information is not a prize in Heaven, Buffy. We don't really need it. That's the glory of the place. Rest. Answers. Peace."  
  
"I remember," she whispered, looking back at him. He caught her gaze and kept it, searching her sad, lost eyes. William had been given instructions by those that sent him to the In Between. What he could and could not say or do. As he had told Buffy, time was meaningless in the Ever After. The future was as handy, if not as clear, as the past. Still, watching her heart break through the stained-glass windows of her eyes... Rules are meant to be broken. Maybe there was a little of Spike in him after all.  
  
*****  
  
Spike collected himself, sucking in his breath and letting it out in a long, smooth sigh. He wiped his eyes almost absently with one hand. The other held Buffy in his lap. She was almost like one of Dru's dolls. Pretty and still. Except most dolls didn't come beaten to a bloody pulp. Although some of Dru's dolls had ended up that way.  
  
Carefully, he slid from the counter to the floor, slipping his free hand under her knees in the same movement. She was supple, her body still clinging to life, but her spiritless eyes were haunting. It had never occurred to him how utterly accustomed he had become to slipping into her mind and wrapping himself in her warmth. They'd learned the little trick, and played with it regularly, in the course of their more intimate adventures. But, over time, he had found himself slipping in just to feel what it was like to be her heart, to see with her eyes, to feel her joy and anticipation and fear. She had done the same. They used it to say the things that just couldn't be spoken, and feel the things that could not be explained. It had become natural. Unconscious. And now it was gone. More than any other moment in his long memory, he felt alone.  
  
Isolated.  
  
He carried her back to their bed, sliding back the downy, cream comforter and laying her in the ivory linen sheets. Spike pulled the blankets to her chest and propped pillows behind her, sitting next to her. At first, all he could do was sit there and hold her hand and stare at her mottled, purpling face. It wasn't enough. Never enough.  
  
Spike stretched out next to her, his face against hers on the pillow and tried to reach her. Extended his mind to hers and wandered, searching for anything. Any trace of her to cling to. Nothing. He let his face fall against hers and stroked her hair, waiting. Building up the nerve. Somewhere believing that one true kiss would bring her back, but afraid to try. Afraid to fail her yet again.  
  
It was barely a sound, but it was enough to startle him out of his grief induced languor. A long, slow rumble from the next room. Not a human sound, but the only sound in the house other than the steady rhythm of breathing. Spike picked up his head, his hand still clasped over Buffy's, and listened intently. He heard it again. Almost a growl.  
  
The puppy.  
  
Spike looked over at Buffy and brushed her hair from her cheeks. "Be back in a flash, Pet. Just need to go check on Emma. Not going anywhere. Alright, Love?" He leaned down, pecking her cheek, and slid quietly off the bed, padding out into the darkened hall.  
  
Emma's door was closed and the lights out. Should be, he thought. Tot should be well into dreamland by now. But the long, low growl started up again, followed this time by what sounded like a whimper. A human whimper.  
  
Trying to keep his frayed wits about him, he took another deep breath. Probably Dawn dreaming and the dog reacting to the sound, he rationalized. The noise wasn't hurried or frightened. Just stay calm, he thought. Can't be worked up round the mite. Need to be the strong one. Another deep breath slowed his heart and steadied his wobbling legs. Spike leaned forward and opened the door.  
  
The metallic smell of blood assaulted him as soon as he crossed the threshold. Panic started anew. The room was pitch black, save for the reddish tint left by the full moon shining just above the window. The smell. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Spike fumbled against the wall, searching for the light switch and tripped over something soft and warm on the floor.  
  
The light flickered on and Spike's heart stopped. He was standing aside Tara, his bare foot caught in her loose skirt. She was crumpled in a silent heap next to the door. His eyes flitted in terror to the crib. Below it was the dog, teeth bared at a charred patch of carpet. He was pulling himself toward it on stiffened front legs, growling, dragging frozen hindquarters behind him.  
  
And then there was Dawn. Eyes shut tight, the Niblet whimpered, rolling her head back and forth, but otherwise utterly still. A pool of blood spread around her from a deep wound on the inside of her forearm. She cried out. The dog barked. Tara stirred slowly beneath him.  
  
Emma.  
  
Spike bolted towards the crib, tripping across the room as he ran. His hands touched the dark wood of the side of Emma's bed and he knew before he even looked down. She was gone.  
  
Gone.  
  
Spike's heart shattered into dust as he dropped to his knees on the floor. He tried to scream, but it caught in his throat. He retched, turning his head away from Dawn and vomiting onto the floor. Everything went silent and colourless and numb. Not even the raging demon stirred inside of him The tears could not come. Nothing.  
  
His baby. His own flesh. He failed her too.  
  
Many times had Spike thought that he could take a stake to the heart and explode into dust, leaving the world a better place. Never had he felt that he would spontaneously turn to dust from the weight of his own heart.  
  
He reached into the pocket of his jeans, letting his hand roll over the smooth wood of the stake he carried on patrol, thinking about the dust. Instead, he ripped his hands from his pockets and grabbed the side of Emma's bed, banging his head, forcing his fists and skull into the cherry wood until he felt the dull throb of pain. Anything was better than the numbness.  
  
Then she screamed.  
  
Dawn's eyes flew open and a horrid, pained, yelp escaped her lips. Her arms and legs jerked to life and she began to gasp for air like a fish caught on shore. Something in Spike snapped, realizing that he couldn't let another one die. He spun on his knees, grabbing Dawn's shoulders and pulling her head onto his lap. She was hyperventilating, crying, nearly insane with grief and rage and pain.  
  
Spike looked at her terrified eyes and it occurred to him that she had not been asleep. She had seen this happen. She had seen Emma taken and she felt the same guilt that he was feeling. The same helplessness. She could do nothing to stop it.  
  
"Shh, Niblet," Spike whispered, stroking her hair. She looked up, catching his eyes.  
  
"S...Sp...Spike. Emma. I tried.... so hard..." she broke into sobs, clinging to Spike's legs, sprawled out on the floor. Spike's tears found him again and they began to drizzle from his eyes like rain. He stared at the girl, her arm still bleeding out into the carpet. Carefully, he freed his hands and slid off his t-shirt, wrapping it tightly around her arm, trying to slow down the blood.  
  
More blood.  
  
"B.... Buffy. She... so mad... me...." Dawn choked, her voice sounding like someone freezing to death in a blizzard.  
  
"No one's mad at you, Nibs," Spike said quietly, stroking her hair again. Her shaking was violent, her face pale as snow. "And Buffy is.."  
  
"Buffy is what? Buffy is what?" Dawn babbled, panic taking control. The madness in her voice struck him nearly dumb.  
  
Spike swallowed, trying to figure a way to say it without sending the girl over the edge. He felt as if he stood atop a precipice, holding her steady, and a wrong move would send one or both of them flying over the cliff into darkness.  
  
"She's hurt, Dawn. Badly. So are you. We need to get the bleeding stopped, Pet."  
  
"I...I'm fine," Dawn muttered, her teeth chattering in her head. "How bad? Buffy? How bad?"  
  
Spike's eyes closed slowly. "Badly," he repeated. He wanted to explain, but there were no words. He opened his eyes again and looked at Dawn. "Badly," he repeated. She understood, nodding that she would ask no more of him right now.  
  
There was a creaking on the staircase, then Cyrus appeared, stumbling in the doorway. His eyes were bleary and he wobbled as he stood. "The child? Is she alright?" He leaned against the doorframe to steady himself.  
  
A switch flipped in Spike and unfathomable anger joined his bottomless grief. He spun his head and stared at Cyrus. "They have her," Spike said, crisply. "And you *will* help me find her. I *won't* lose them."  
  
*****  
  
There was a snapping noise. A sickly, squishing, pop, as if one forced their way through a door made of Jell-O. Anya blinked, the complete darkness now shattered by an orangey glow. Her mind was still, devoid of both thought and emotion. Registering only what assaulted her senses. Like the feel of the cold, gelatinous door, the glow of the far off fire, the feel of Emma being lifted from her arms.  
  
A pang of loss came over her as the baby's breath against her cheek disappeared. A wave a panic when she felt the tiny arms let go of their hold around her neck. A hurricane of guilt as she heard a whimper and "Mommy" slide from innocent pink lips. The spell shattered as Emma was taken and Anya fell to her knees on the cold stone floor, the horror of what she had done rushing into her as if a dam had broken in her mind.  
  
"Emma!" she screamed into the darkness. "Emma! No!" She was sobbing, whimpering, unable to move. "Emma! Please!"  
  
But there was no answer. Silence.  
  
Anya rocked back on her heels, then fell with a thump onto her backside. The sobbing was harder now, faster, racking her. She'd all but killed the baby. It may have been Buffy's, Spike's, baby, but Emma had been a part of them all. Anya loved her as if she were her own flesh. Now she'd killed her.  
  
A strange sensation came over the dark, silent room. Stillness, as if the world had been paused for just a moment. Anya lifted her head from her knees, heavy, wet eyes scanning the darkness. "H... Hello?"  
  
"Anyanka," a familiar voice stated, firmly. No compassion, but no ill intent, evident in its tone. A form shifted from the shadows themselves.  
  
"D'Hoffryn?" Anya answered, disbelief clouding her vision.  
  
"Yes, child," he said in the same, flat tone.  
  
"W..why are you here?" Her voice was shaking, trembling almost at the same rate as her pounding heart.  
  
"To make you an offer," he answered, moving closer.  
  
"I... I told you. I like being human now. Even if they have stupid rules. I don't want to go back."  
  
"Suit yourself," D'Hoffryn said, in an almost casual tone. "But one would think that you would at *least* hear me out. Especially since my offer might save the child. But if you'd rather have her dead, no skin from my teeth." He began to stalk back into the shadows.  
  
Anya swallowed. She knew that whatever D'Hoffryn had to offer would end her mortal life, but could she live with herself knowing that she had delivered the baby, not just any baby but Peace itself, into her own death? These were not decisions she was equipped to make.  
  
"D'Hoffryn, wait!"  
  
To be contd. 


	18. Human

Hi, Everyone:)  
  
Thanks for all of the reviews and for the emails! I am doing alright right now, and I am so thankful for all of your well wishes. Please keep the reviews coming... it makes me want to write that much more.  
  
The next chapter should be out on Sunday.  
  
Hope you like the story:)  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
Title: Human (The Evil Within - Chapter 18) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Giles is confronted with the one horror he hoped not to see. William explains the real reason she should return to her time. Spike discovers that no one else can save his girls.  
  
Human  
  
Giles was beaten. At least that is how he felt, hanging there, waiting for something to happen over which he had no control. The Witch and Quentin had left him there, hanging, thinking. pondering things that no mortal man should ever have to consider.  
  
His limbs were numb. The only part of him that seemed to be in working order was his head. He could still smell the wretched decay, although he had almost become used to the stench. The sound of the fire crackling and popping, its orange flames lapping the dense air. The feel of the cold, slimy stone against the back of his neck. Worst of all, the horrid, spiraling thoughts of what was yet to come.  
  
Footsteps clicking against stone broke his thoughts and forced him to lift his tired, sagging head. Quentin strode though the doorway, confident and almost chipper, puffing at another cigar. Maybe lung cancer would kill him and save us all the trouble, Giles thought.  
  
But the snarky quip disappeared from his mind as the raven-haired beauty appeared on Quentin's heels. In her arms was a bundle of pink, fuzzy, footie pajamas and a tangle of golden ringlets and huge, blue eyes. In the bundle's pink fist clung a furry, stuffed rabbit. One that Giles had given her before he left.  
  
Damn them, Giles thought, fury boiling in his once numb veins.  
  
The child's head turned and caught sight of Giles. Emma's eyes grew wide and more terrified, her arms reaching towards the Watcher. Giles swallowed, looking away, blinking back the onslaught of tears. Those big blue eyes. Her father's eyes. She wasn't scared for her own safety. She was scared for his. The thought wrenched his gut.  
  
The pair, Quentin and his Sorceress, walked right past Giles, slowly, deliberately. The baby caught his gaze again, her concerned blue eyes locking on his. It would have been easier if she'd been screaming 'Help Me!'. If she had been begging Giles to save her. But the concept that she was terrified that she could not help *him* made his heart break in two.  
  
"Daddy help," the baby whispered, as she passed inches from Giles' face. He looked at her oddly for a moment. It was not a confused plea, rather a statement of fact.  
  
*****  
  
"Buffy," William began softly, his words hesitant, his eyes staring out over the sea as if asking for guidance. "I find myself wishing that you would stay."  
  
She looked over at him, her hand still locked inside his. His honesty was almost painful. But it was Spike's voice. Spike's thought. Buffy nodded her understanding and looked away again. "So, you are what Spike was so afraid to let us see?"  
  
William chuckled. The sound was like music in the crisp air. "Don't quite fit his style"  
  
Buffy smiled, still staring out at the horizon. "You are more his style than he'd like to admit," she answered. "You are what makes him a good father and a patient friend and a sweet lover." William blushed. In his human life, his abilities in that realm had remained untested. But he was somewhere pleased to know that Spike had learned to use his body, and his mind, well.  
  
She let her hand fall loosely from his. The movement left him somehow... empty. "But the demon is what makes him a fierce warrior and protective ally, and..." Buffy did not continue, thinking that William's head might explode if she assaulted him with their more aggressive intimate behaviour. "I need both," she said instead, realizing in that moment, that it was truth.  
  
William looked back out over the water, squinting at the sun dancing in the surf. "I know," he finally answered, his words soft and sorrowful.  
  
"I need to get back to them, William. We still have work to do." She studied his profile. His chestnut waves blew into his eyes and he brushed them away with the back of his hand.  
  
"It's not just about the work, Buffy," he said quietly, turning his face towards hers. "Were it only about saving the world, I would spend more time convincing you to stay."  
  
Buffy was silent, watching his eyes. "I'm not sure I know what you mean?"  
  
"The Powers, Fate, even your human guides, have spent so much time telling you that it's your Destiny to save the world and protect Peace, and fight the good fight," William spouted. Buffy was surprised by the agitation in his gentle voice. The little lines around his eyes and mouth were more defined in his frustration. Softly, she took his hand in hers once again and, like Spike, he settled. "You're human, Buffy."  
  
"I... I know," she answered, crinkling her nose. He shook his head at her, trying not to smile at her furrowed brow and cute, crinkled nose.  
  
"I don't think you do. You carry an immortal soul and you have a job to do, a Destiny to fulfill, but *that* is not the reason you need to go back."  
  
"W... What is?" Buffy asked, shifting her weight so that she was facing him, her legs tucked under her. She looked young and coltish.  
  
"The reason *is* your humanity. You need to go back because you love Spike and you love your daughter and you still have experiences to sense and beautiful things to see and books to read and things to learn," William gushed.  
  
Buffy cocked her head, staring at him. This was new, she thought. Not 'Go back and complete your mission, Buffy', but 'Go back and live your life.' "You think I should go back just to be human?"  
  
"I would if I could," he said sharply. Her head dropped at his tone. William sighed, catching her chin with three fingers and lifting her eyes to his. She glowed in the sunlight. Like an angel, he thought. "I'm sorry," he said, very calmly, sweetly. She blinked up at him with her big, doe eyes. "I just want you to go back for the right reasons."  
  
"Saving the World, protecting the Peacemaker, aren't the right reasons?" Buffy asked. It wasn't snarky, but an honest question. Her face was puzzled, afraid.  
  
"They are. I mean to say that they are noble and valiant. But Buffy, fight for what's in here," he whispered, pressing his hand against her temple, "and in here," he continued, pressing his palm against her heart. "And in here," he said cautiously, letting his hand fall against her stomach. Buffy's hand closed over his and she looked down at their entwined fingers, then blinked, and looked back up at William's face.  
  
"You have more reasons to find your way home than you know," William said, smiling softly, watching her face. Her eyes steeled with resolve. She was so beautiful. How he wished that she would stay.  
  
*****  
  
They were quiet, setting about making things right. Spike had explained what had happened to Buffy. He was short. To the point. But he could not hide the sorrow in his voice when he spoke, and the tears in his eyes when he tried to look away. He dispatched Cyrus to figure out where the Evil would have taken Emma, asked Tara to fetch Xander and Willow, and set about tending to Dawn himself.  
  
The teenager shook as Spike stood behind her, holding her up between himself and the marble, bathroom countertop. Gently, he cleaned the slash in her arm. "We need to get you to hospital," Spike muttered, working around the edges of the wounds of another Summers girl. Two in one night. His anger boiled as he thought that there had better not be so much as a mark on the little one when he got to her. Bad enough these two were so torn.  
  
"I want to stay here with Buffy," Dawn replied, wincing as the soap trickled into the wound.  
  
"You need stitches," Spike said quietly. Dawn swooned and he caught her with an arm around her waist and kept her steady.  
  
"W...Willow can do it," Dawn answered, her voice hazy and surreal.  
  
Spike thought for a moment. He didn't want to separate them any more than he had to, but the wound on Dawn's arm was fairly deep. "It'll leave a scar," he cautioned.  
  
"We all have scars," she answered, flatly. Spike had no response to that. They made him who he was. Reminded them of where they had been.  
  
"Alright then. Red can stitch it," Spike consented, gently spreading Betadyne on the wound and beginning to cover it with gauze. She was facing him now, staring up at his eyes. She won't be looking up much longer, Spike thought. Way she's growing.  
  
"Tell me what happened to Buffy, "Dawn said solemnly.  
  
"She was fighting a demon and got hurt," Spike answered, giving her the same speech he'd given to the rest. His hands wrapped gauze around her arm. He didn't look at her.  
  
"No, Spike. What happened to her?" she pried, her hands forcing his face to hers. He sighed. So much like her sis.  
  
"It's hard, Niblet," Spike said softly.  
  
"I need to tell you about what happened... in there," she said, nodding towards the baby's room.  
  
Spike sighed again, knowing he didn't stand a chance. "Fair's fair," he muttered, hesitantly. So he told her the story. That they were on patrol and Xander came to find them and told them about Willow. Just as he and Xander started back to the house, the demon appeared. How he was so torn, but Buffy told him to go. And how he knew that Buffy could handle herself where Emma could not. So they left, leaving Buffy alone to fight the demon.  
  
When he got back, it had been too late. She was... as she was now. He skipped the part about witnessing the final blow. About slaughtering the demon in a fit of rage. About feeling her spirit get swallowed by the stars. By the end, he was crying again. Slow, gentle tears. He didn't even realize that they slid down his cheeks until Dawn, of all people to comfort *him*, brushed them away.  
  
"Spike, it's not your fault. Buffy would have made you go protect Emma. You *know* that."  
  
"Great job I did 'a that," Spike whispered, almost laughing senselessly at his failures.  
  
"You did everything you could," Dawn replied, laying her hand on his damp cheek.  
  
"Does that make *you* feel any better?" Spike snapped before he could think about what he was saying. About who he was saying it to. Her head dropped in shame and tears began to slip from her own eyes.  
  
Great, Spike thought. Let two go and break the last one's heart. "Niblet, I didn't mean..."  
  
"No, you're right," Dawn whispered, looking up at him with heavy eyes. She told him the story of Tara coming into Emma's room and just... freezing her. About not being able to move or to speak, but being able to watch. To watch her attack Anya and then crumple to the floor. Then to watch Anya just take Emma without even a fight. To feel the dagger's blade, but not to be able to scream. Watching the portal open and wanting to grab her niece and run away, but being trapped. Helpless. There *wasn't* any more she could have done. And no, it didn't make her feel any better.  
  
Spike tucked the sobbing girl against his chest, stroking her long, dark hair. There wasn't anything to say. No promises he could make. No 'Everything'll be right as rain'. He didn't know where Emma had been taken. He didn't know where Buffy was. But he knew he wanted them back. Where there's a will, there's a way, he thought. Sodding cliché-ridden poet.  
  
"Look, Dawn," Spike said, pulling her gently away, "Not that I'm not enjoying our soggy share time, but if we want them back, we're going to have to get on with it. Be strong, alright?"  
  
Dawn nodded, cracking a halfhearted grin. It was the best she could muster at the time. "What do you want me to do?"  
  
"You," he huffed, sliding an arm underneath her and picking her up. "Need to rest a bit. Lost a lot of blood."  
  
"I need to *do* something," she whined as he carried her across the hall and towards her room. "At least let me stay with Buffy." Spike thought about it a moment, remembering Buffy's battered and nearly unrecognizable face.  
  
"How bout this?" Spike began, settling her down on her bed. "You get some rest and let Willow fix you up a bit better. Give Tara and me a chance to make your sis a bit more comfortable, then you can stay and watch out for her, alright?"  
  
Dawn stared up at him, wanting to object but his tired eyes pleaded with her to make this easy. "OK," she hesitantly agreed. "But can Pony stay with me?"  
  
"Pony?" Spike asked, his voice rising in confusion.  
  
"The puppy."  
  
"You named him Pony?" Spike asked, pulling her blankets up to her neck. The dog hopped up on the bed with her.  
  
"Buffy sort of did," Dawn said, smiling. Spike looked down at her and the giant, slobbering pooch. "It'll be OK, Spike. You'll get them back."  
  
"Get some sleep," he whispered, kissing her nose and flicking out the light.  
  
*****  
  
"So, what did you find out?" Spike asked, walking into the kitchen, both hands running nervously through his hair. Cyrus was hanging up the phone as Spike came in. The Vampire had changed, putting on a blue T-shirt with his black jeans. There was still blood splattered on his pants.  
  
"Not much, I'm afraid," Cyrus sighed.  
  
"Don't tell me not much," Spike said flatly, his tone even but his blue eyes flashing gold in the dim light of the kitchen.  
  
A wave of fear came over the Watcher. "All I could discover is that Buffy, if she is still alive, but... gone... as you say, is most likely in a place called the In Between."  
  
"What in bloody hell is that?" Spike snarled, kicked the leg of a stool with the toe of his boot. Cyrus backed up, positioning himself behind the counter, a safe distance from the overwrought Vampire.  
  
"The place in between life and death. Akin to a waiting room for the Afterlife," Cyrus explained slowly.  
  
"Well," Spike sighed, choosing to just accept the answer. He was too tired to fight over words. "How do we get her out?"  
  
Cyrus backed to the sink. "We don't," he whispered. "We can't."  
  
"*What?*," Spike snapped, moving towards the alarmed Watcher with lightening quickness.  
  
"We cannot remove her. No mortal can go there and retrieve her. It simply is against the rules," Cyrus stuttered. "But we may be able to get you to her. There are spirits, William," Cyrus was talking faster by the second, hoping to buy time with the Vampire. "Spirits that pass between the worlds. They may know a way..."  
  
Spike stopped his advance. "So, you're saying that we pop in and ask for directions?"  
  
"Y...Yes," Cyrus answered. "Well, you do. Since you are joined to the Slayer, you should be able to trace her more accurately than any of us. The In Between is fluid. Different for everyone. Only joined souls would share the same experience. Only you could find her straight away."  
  
Spike's hands dropped to his sides and drummed against his jeans. "How? How do I find her?"  
  
"I know a spell. I just don't have the power. The Witch can do it though. She can help you to the Slayer."  
  
Spike thought for a moment. "If Tara helps me find her, I can get her back?" Spike asked. "I need to know, mate. I need to find them both. I can't waste any time..." His head dropped. There was nothing he wanted to consider less, but it was possible that while he searched for one, the other would die. They were both still alive. He felt it. But if he chose incorrectly... He would have failed them again.  
  
"Honestly, I don't know," Cyrus sighed, giving up. If Spike was going to attack him, there wasn't much he could do to stop it. He had a feeling it wouldn't come to that. "But she may have learned something. A way home, perhaps. But William, it's important that you remember that if you find her, you won't be able to stay and you won't be able to bring her back. You will have to leave her there. You would go only to find information. To see if the spirits can tell you a way to bring her back."  
  
Spike shook his head, his hands sweeping nervously through his hair once again. "I thought you were locating Emma," he said, dejection lacing his tone. He looked tired, Cyrus thought. Spent.  
  
"I need some more time," Cyrus answered softly.  
  
"We don't *have* time," Spike snapped, kicking the chair and making Cyrus jump. The front door creaked open in the hallway.  
  
"Spike," a sweet voice called in. For a moment, his spinning mind thought it was Buffy and he spun on a heel. "Spike," it said again. Tara.  
  
"You're going to explain the spell to Tara," Spike said, inhaling a large, shaky breath. "And then you are going to get back on the phone or to your books, and you will *find* my daughter by the time I get back." He glared at the Watcher for a moment, but it wasn't aggression Cyrus saw in his eyes.  
  
It was fear.  
  
Cyrus took a deep breath, slowing his heart, and straightened his suit. "Think," he whispered to himself. "Think, you immortal, git." Another deep breath and he walked out of the kitchen and into the fray.  
  
*****  
  
As Cyrus prepared Tara for the spell to guide Spike to the In Between, Spike spoke to Willow and Xander. Tara had told them both what had happened, and they dared not press Spike for details about Buffy. The Vampire was at the very end of his rope, pacing as he spoke, tugging at his clothes, rubbing absently at his blood stained jeans. His voice was thick, his accent heavy.  
  
"Red, need you to take care of the Niblet, a'right? She won't leave, so do what you can here."  
  
"OK," Willow agreed tacitly. "I... I'll do the best I can."  
  
"Good girl." Spike looked down for a moment and then raised his eyes back to the girl. "Willow, I'm sorry for..."  
  
"Spike, don't..." she interrupted, laying a hand on his arm. "Already forgotten. Let me go get Dawnie." Spike simply nodded, grateful for her understanding.  
  
Xander stood in front of Spike, his own eyes frightened and wet. "Harris," Spike said gruffly, trying to sound far more in control and unaffected than he felt, "Seems I've got some runnin' round to do. Need you to watch out here. Make sure that nothing happens to Dawn. To Buff..." His words trailed off and he felt his eyes fill with tears. Spike swallowed, not quite ready to turn into a blubbering idiot and lose what was left of his dignity in front of Xander Harris.  
  
Instead of laughing, or making some insulting remark, Xander surprised him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'll watch out here. Just find them, ok?"  
  
Xander's eyes were close to spilling as well. Spike sensed that he wanted to say something else and cocked his head, questioning the boy. Xander looked at him, trying to figure out how to say it.  
  
"Spike... you know she didn't... that Anya didn't... Just, if she's there and you can avoid it..."  
  
"I won't hurt her, Mate," Spike said softly. And he meant it. Unless there was no other way, no one would die tonight.  
  
Tara approached Spike, wearing a warm, comforting smile. Spike found himself wishing he could bottle that and save it for horrid days along with Buffy's scent and Emma's soft kisses. "You ready?" Tara asked, laying her hand on his forearm. Spike nodded, laying his hand on top of hers. "Let's go find her," Tara said encouragingly, leading him up the stairs.  
  
To be contd. 


	19. Paper Dolls

Hi, all:)  
  
Hope everyone is having a great weekend.  
  
A lot of you have emailed me with questions on the last chapter. All will become evident in time. But I am curious, what do you think? As always, I live for feedback, so any ideas, comments, questions or criticisms are always welcome. Review me here or email me (or both)!  
  
Thanks for reading and let me know what you think. (Oh, and yes, I am feeling better, thanks:)).  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
  
  
Title: Paper Dolls (The Evil Within - Chapter 19) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: D'Hoffryn presents his deal to Anya, but can she accept his terms? Buffy presses William for answers about what is to come. Spike departs on his journey to find Buffy, but will it be in time to save her? To save Emma?  
  
Paper Dolls  
  
"W...What kind of offer?" Anya asked, staring up at the looming form of D'Hoffryn.  
  
"Well," the demon began, his fingertips drumming against each other. "For this to end, for the child and her mother to survive..."  
  
"Her mother? Buffy's fine. She was on patrol with Spike," Anya countered, confused.  
  
"She was wounded by the Octycyrax," D'Hoffryn answered flatly. "She's in the In Between."  
  
Anya gasped, her hand clapping over her mouth. "She's.. In Between? Oh God. Who summoned the Octycyrax?"  
  
"The same that now hold Emma and will soon return for you," the demon said quietly.  
  
"Me? Why?"  
  
"Because you were there at the First."  
  
Anya thought a moment, mentally flipping through knowledge until she struck upon what she needed. "I'm only just over a thousand," she sighed, insulted. "Do I look *that* old?"  
  
D'Hoffryn shook his head. "Your soul, Anyanka. Your immortal soul. Before you were the scorned girl I found. Your soul was there."  
  
Anya was silent, tugging nervously at her hair as tears dried in salty rivers on her cheeks. "How? Why? I mean, Buffy and Spike are the Chosen Ones. They were those divided and destined to be joined. What do I have to do with anything?"  
  
"They are," D'Hoffryn agreed. "But to every child, there is a Mother."  
  
Anya was silent, trying to process the information despite her overwhelmed emotional state. "That... that's preposterous," she said, indignant.  
  
"Call it what you will, Anyanka, but it is your past and your future," D'Hoffryn corrected, flatly.  
  
"I don't suppose it matters much at this point." She sighed, rolling tighter into herself and letting her stare fall to her knees.  
  
"No," he said softly. "Anyanka," he began again. Compassion finally filled his voice, like a father pleading with his child. "You will likely die tonight."  
  
The woman looked up at him with large, wet eyes. There was no fear. No anger. Merely sorrow and acceptance. She nodded in understanding.  
  
"My offer," he continued, crouching next to her huddled form, "Will give you the opportunity to remain in your world, if you please." He brushed the hair tenderly from her tearstained cheeks.  
  
"What is it?" Anya sniffled.  
  
"Fate will call for a sacrifice in order to save the child. Much like the 'Speak now or forever hold your peace' bit in a wedding. No one ever takes Fate up on it. You shall."  
  
"How? I mean if Fate chooses?"  
  
"Will it, Anyanka. You have always been a powerful girl."  
  
She smiled briefly at the compliment. "And then what?"  
  
"In that, you will have to have faith in me. Can you do that?" The fatherly tone was still strong in his voice.  
  
Again, she nodded, her face frightened but resolved.  
  
"In exchange, you will return to my... employment. As you are dear to me, Anyanka, I will let you remain where you are, but you will have to perform your duties as required."  
  
"I understand," Anya whispered, clutching her knees closer to her chest. "If I... If I die, then Emma will be alright?"  
  
"They will have to release her. Willing sacrifice is irrefutable."  
  
"And you know of no other way?" Anya said, eyes still trained on her knees.  
  
"Not without the child's mother dying. And she cannot be saved without the child." He was silent a moment. "No, Anyanka, there is no other way."  
  
Anya wiped her eyes with a flurry of her nervous hands. "Then I consent."  
  
"You will die for the child?" D'Hoffyrn asked, touched and a little surprised by her sincerity and her sacrifice.  
  
"If that is what I have to do."  
  
"Then you will be rewarded."  
  
With that, he faded back into the shadows, leaving her huddled on the cold, stone floor.  
  
*****  
  
The sun was setting in a rose gold splash of light over the edge of the Earth. At least what looked like the Earth to Buffy from her seat on the shore. She stared at the splendor, her body feeling full and alive again. She would find a way back. She had to. Still, a sadness filled her. For the man sitting next to her in the sand. The one Spike had left behind and she would soon leave behind as well.  
  
Somehow, she knew he'd still be around. He was always part of Spike.  
  
When she looked back at him, he was still studying her with cautious, smiling eyes. She grinned at him. A look that made his heart break and burst at the same time. Rarely, did William regret not being human as Heaven had been kind to him. Right then, he would have given up that peace just to be near her always.  
  
Maybe there was a way.  
  
He thought of the secrets he had shared with her and smiled. Maybe there was a second chance.  
  
"So," Buffy said, her arms crossed protectively over her belly, almost huddling against the evening chill. "Do you know a lot about the future?"  
  
William blinked, not sure how to answer the question. He bought himself a moment as he draped his jacket over her shoulders. "Some," he finally responded. "But I have told you too much already." His words were punctuated with a shy, quiet smile. "Besides, the future is fluid. Ever changing."  
  
"Are we alive in the future?" Buffy asked, staring at a snow-white dove gliding over their heads.  
  
"If we all do what we are meant to. If we fight and sacrifice and love."  
  
"Spike? Emma?" Buffy was quiet for a long moment. "My family?"  
  
He smiled at her once again, a sort of proxy, paternal pride rushing through him. "If Fate swings our way, then yes. We just have to believe."  
  
Buffy thought for a moment. "What happens to you?" She looked at his face again, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. He absently brushed strands from her cheeks.  
  
"I go back to Heaven," William answered simply. But there was more to the tone. A sort of resignation.  
  
"Forever?" Buffy asked, as if eternity wasn't necessarily eternal.  
  
"Or until the Powers decide that another body should have my soul," he answered, hooking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"They can do that?" Her nose crinkled again, eliciting a grin from William.  
  
"Recycling of souls. Sooner or later, we all go back. Have another go round. At least those of us who aren't the One," he chided. She giggled, watching the last of the sun sink, leaving only dim twilight. "Those of us who play less pivotal roles get to rest a spell, then are sent back."  
  
"Do you want to go back, William?" she asked, tenderly, returning her gaze to his.  
  
"Maybe," he answered. "Under the right circumstances. Maybe I will."  
  
Buffy smiled softly. It was Joyce's smile this time. "You should look us up," she snarked. "You know, the nice couple down the street. Yes, he is a Vampire and yes she kills his kind, but they have a cute little girl who will save the world."  
  
William's turn to chuckle. "I think I'd like it there."  
  
"You should come by."  
  
"I just might."  
  
*****  
  
Spike lay on his side next to Buffy, his arm draped over her slender waist and his face buried in her hair. It felt good to be near her, even if she wasn't completely there. Hearing the steady, slow thump of her heart, the gentle rise and fall of her breast as she breathed, gave him hope. He closed his eyes, trying once again to find her. Trying to reach into the vast darkness and pull her back by force alone. But still, she was gone.  
  
"I have to have you back, Love," he whispered, his eyes drifting open. Softly, he nuzzled her cheek. "I need you here."  
  
The door clicked open and hissed gently against the carpet. "You ready, Spike?" Tara's voice was soft and kind. She shut the door and padded over to the bed.  
  
"Yeah," he answered simply.  
  
Tara began to walk a slow circle around the bed. She had asked Spike to pull it from the wall enough that she could walk behind it. Surrounding it in protective magic and power. The girl walked thrice around, chanting quietly and sprinkling salt in her path. She then returned to the bed, settling on the edge.  
  
"You understand," Tara began softly, "That you can only go there to find out if she knows anything. To make sure she's alright. You can't get her out Spike. Both of you will die if you try."  
  
Spike contemplated that thought a moment. Dying didn't seem quite as horrid a fate as living here without her. But then there was Emma. Someone needed to stay with her, to raise her. Little tyke deserved to have her parents. Both of them. "Right," Spike answered.  
  
"Tell me you understand, Spike," Tara pleaded. "Tell me if I send you there that you'll be able to leave her. It's your only chance."  
  
Spike swallowed. Leaving her alone. Not something he wanted to face. But if it would save her... Emma. "I understand."  
  
Tara looked at him with concern, but nodded quietly. "Lay down on your back, your palms facing up," Spike complied as Tara arranged Buffy in the same manner. Buffy's left hand, the one still wearing the moonstone ring, brushed Spike's right. He let his thumb hook hers, needing to feel connected again. Even for a moment. Tara smiled. They looked like ragged paper dolls.  
  
"Come on, then," Spike huffed impatiently. "Need to find her."  
  
"Patience," Tara cooed, gently plucking a long, blonde hair from Buffy's head. Spike twinged and looked at the Witch with eyebrow raised.  
  
"What'ya do that for?"  
  
"To connect you to her body. It's a tether and a lead," Tara answered, gently laying the hair across both of their outstretched palms and tucking their hands closed into fists. "It's part of her. It will tie you to her in this world and lead you to her in the In Between. You'll see." She smiled that comforting, warm smile, and Spike tried to settle.  
  
"Just relax," she whispered, placing her hand atop their closed fists.  
  
"Great Mother, these two are bound in all Worlds. One heart, One soul, One body, One mind. Flesh to flesh, blood to blood, soul to soul. Connect them." Spike felt a pinprick against his thumb and felt Tara press his flesh to Buffy's. "Lead them back to One." There were more words, but Spike felt his skin tingle and thrum with energy. His ears lost track of her voice, his mind drifting, wandering as if falling into exhausted sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Spike's eyes shot open and he found himself standing in a room. It was filled with soft light. He looked down at himself and saw more, soft whiteness. On his body was a pair of fitted white slacks and a loose white button down, tucked neatly into the waist. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his skin tanned and his feet barefoot against the cool, white floor.  
  
"Could have picked a better sodding wardrobe," Spike grumbled, annoyed at the choice of Ever After wear.  
  
He lifted his hands to his face and saw a glimmer in the white glow of the room. As thin as spider webs, shining, beautiful, silver strands coiled themselves around each of his wrists. The one on his left led back behind him, under a plain white door. The one on his right led forward through another door. He plucked the silver thread before him and it hummed melodically, almost like a harp string. Spike shrugged, walking forwards towards the door. "Not always subtle in the Afterlife."  
  
Spike took a deep breath and pulled open the door.  
  
A vast meadow opened up in front of him, full of daisies and wild violets. He stepped into the grass, feeling his bare feet sink into the soft turf. There were no rough edges, no sharp stones, or broken sticks. Just perfect, lush grass dotted with wild flowers.  
  
It was twilight. The purple-blue moments after the sun dips down below the Earth but before the moon rises to light her again. A breeze blew gently across the meadow, making the daisies nod their heads and the leaves on the trees to his right rustle quietly. It was peaceful here. Tranquil.  
  
The smell of the sea in the distance drew him forward, and the tiny silver thread grew taut. It shimmered a rainbow of muted blues in the twilight. Sparkling and incandescent. Soft. Like her.  
  
Spike felt his heart thump in his chest as he walked, following the dancing silver thread. He could sense her here. Not like he could in their world. Not by smell or sound of even by touching her mind. But more of a whisper of her in the air. A little innate sense of her that both calmed him and excited him. He walked at the same steady pace, afraid to disturb the tranquility and lose the feeling. Lose her.  
  
There was something else as well, Spike thought as he walked through the soft, perfect grass. Familiar things all around him. Nothing he could see or hear or taste, but familiar all the same. Cherished. Missed. Loved. Lost. All around him.  
  
The thread began to hum in the gentle breeze. Not just a single note, but an entire symphony of hushed sound. Barely audible but utterly beautiful. Spike wanted to throttle himself for being so enraptured by the beauty of the place. The subtle nuances of the landscape. The soothing sounds and comforting smells. "Bloody poet," he grumbled to himself. "Making me all weepy at the sodding ambiance."  
  
Then something occurred to him and he stopped, a tingle winding up his spine to the base of his skull. Spike stopped, closing his eyes and opening his mind, searching for her, reaching. Like a child lost in the dark, he searched, and like the same child found, relief filled him was he felt her. Her thoughts were steady, her heart beating, her movements quiet and gentle. Spike could feel her contentment, her peace, but also that sense of determination that only she could exude. Like a wolverine protecting pups. So did the Slayer protect her own.  
  
He was jogging now, no longer needing the humming strand to guide him. She grew inside of him, blossomed, became whole and real and new. It was like racing home. His legs pumped to the rhythm of his heart. The smell of her, of vanilla and jasmine, grew stronger with every stride. She grew stronger. More resolute. So close, he thought, his mind, body, soul, screaming in need. He needed her. Wanted her. Loved her.  
  
The strand jerked taut again as the grass met the sand and Spike stopped, staring out onto the perfect white sand beach. The moon began to rise, full and fertile on the horizon. Heavy and rich and beautiful. Spike could feel her everywhere now, inside and out. He longed for her. Desperate need consuming him. Need to apologize, need to make it right, need to hold her, to be held, to find a way to bring her back to...  
  
His thoughts were cut short as he caught site of two figures down the beach. One sat still in the sand, knees drawn up, head craned towards Spike. The second stood, scanning the beach and starting his way, glowing, like some sort of angel in the moon's first light.  
  
Spike began to walk towards the figures, slowly at first. But as the standing figure moved towards him, and the silver strand pulled tighter against his skin, he ran. There weren't any words. There was no, one, distinct emotion. relief, happiness, regret, sorrow, love, fear, lust, need, all melding together as her face became defined in the pale moonlight. Her perfect, unmarked face. No scars or bruises or welts or any of the horrors he put her though.  
  
"Spike?" It was almost a whimper of relief. The sitting figure stood and began slowly towards them. A slow shamble of a walk.  
  
Spike never answered her call. As soon as he could get close enough to reach her, he caught her wrist and pulled her to him, clinging to her like a drowning man to a life preserver, raining kisses down on her face in every place he could put them. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers twirling the curls on the back of his neck. Her mouth hungrily found his with a force and fervor that she had forgotten she possessed. She wanted to devour him, crawl inside of him, pull him into her until they were One again.  
  
Spike pulled her gently away, resting a palm on her cheek. "Buffy." It was a breathless word, full of need and desire. "Buffy, I'm so sorry. I..." The tears were spilling down his cheeks, breaking her heart. She leaned up on her toes and began to kiss them away one by one.  
  
"Spike," she answered quietly, her breath blowing soft against his cheeks. "It's not your fault."  
  
"But you and.... Buffy, Emma is.."  
  
"We'll get her back," she interrupted, kissing his lips as softly as butterfly wings.  
  
"How... how did you know?" Spike asked, catching her eyes in his.  
  
"I've had help here," Buffy answered, turning and molding herself to Spike's side, under his strong arm. She wrapped hers around his waist.  
  
The chestnut haired man stood in front of them, hands behind his back. His head hung down towards the sand. He looked sad, standing alone in the moonlight. Slowly, his raised his head to face them.  
  
Spike blinked, staring at the man, then back at Buffy. Buffy smiled softly at her lover. "Spike, I think you remember William."  
  
To be contd.... 


	20. Ever After

Good evening, everyone:)  
  
Happy James Day to you all!  
  
Here is chapter 20 for your viewing pleasure. Please let me know if you like it. Review me here or shoot me an email. I always answer emails:)  
  
A question for you. As this book winds down, I have received a lot of queiries as to whether or not there will be a book five. Well, it's sort of up to you, as this entire piece has been based on fan reaction. If you want one, let me know and if you have anything I have missed that you would like to see, let me know that too. I would like to hit 100 reviews on this book before considering it, so let your friends know about the fic as well if they haven't read it.  
  
Thank you all for being such wonderful and patient fans. Your next chapter will be out either Thursday or Friday.  
  
  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Ever After (The Evil Within - Chapter 20) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Giles is given information on how Emma can be saved, but can he do what he will have to to save her? Willow, Xander and Cyrus figure out a way to get Spike to Emma, but will Spike be up to the task? Will he be willing to pay the price? Buffy and Spike are reunited in the In Between, but Spike is forced to face his past in William.  
  
  
  
Ever After  
  
The sorceress laid the child gently on a stone palate next to the fire. Emma laid still, clutching her rabbit but otherwise motionless in the dim, orange glow. Giles stared at her. Bravery knows no age, he thought. She didn't fuss or scream, just laid patiently. Waiting.  
  
Quentin watched the baby for a moment with a hungry sort of satisfaction, and then turned his attention to Giles. The seething hatred on old Rupert's face was almost pleasure enough for the whole evening. Almost. "Mistress Lenora," Quentin said, with a grandiose air about him. "Please prepare for the ceremony. I will be back in a moment."  
  
The woman nodded, shifting back into the ancient hag right in front of the toddler. Emma jumped, a little choked gasp escaping her lips as the form in front of her changed. She quickly settled again. Waiting. Quentin stalked out of the room, fat with pride and victory. The sorceress began to chant.  
  
Giles closed his eyes, squeezing back tears of anger and frustration. His head banged heavily against the cold stone. This cannot happen, he thought. She cannot die.  
  
"She doesn't have to," a voice said quietly, as if reading the Watcher's thoughts. Giles' eyes shot open, but there was no one. Nothing. As if the voice had arisen from the shadows themselves.  
  
"W..who are you?" Giles muttered.  
  
"Do not speak," the gentle, yet commanding, voice whispered. It was a male voice, vaguely familiar, but not one Giles could place. Giles nodded, swallowing. His throat burned from the smoke and ash.  
  
"To save the child, the mother must die. You must kill her," the voice said into his ear.  
  
"B..Buff..." escaped from Giles' lips before his jaw snapped shut at the remembrance of the caution.  
  
"Either the child's own mother or the Mother of the One. The Mother at the First. Fate will choose her this night. You will kill her."  
  
Giles swung his head around, searching for the owner of the voice. His jaw dropped open and clicked shut once again. He shook his head vehemently. No killing, he thought. No death.  
  
"There will be death. The Slayer. The Peacemaker. The Mother. It's your choice," the voice answered. Giles shook his head again, tears starting to slip down his face.  
  
"If you do what I tell you, you can keep them all," it continued. "I can save the Mother, although her mortal soul will perish. She is the only one I can help. If the Vampire cannot find his mate and bring her home, the child will die. If the child dies, the Slayer can never be returned. All that is left is letting them die or trusting me."  
  
The Watcher swallowed again, feeling raw and drained and beaten. What kind of choices are these?, he questioned to himself. There must be another way.  
  
"There is no other way," the voice countered, hearing Giles' thoughts. "Do you consent?"  
  
The hanged man was silent, thinking. No way out. Slowly, he nodded.  
  
"Through the sorceress, the Fates will choose a token sacrifice. It will be the Mother. They will choose her mate to kill her in order to stop the ceremony and spare the child. As you were her mate at the First, they will hand the dagger to you. An ivory handled weapon with a ruby red eye and a dragon coiled around. The mark of Draconius. They will not expect you to comply. It is merely a necessary formality of the rite. You must do this. Kill her with the dagger of Draconius. But her death cannot be instant. You must strike her so that death is slowed. If you do this, I can save her. Do you understand?"  
  
Tears slid steadily down Giles' face. He knew the Mother. It was a woman that he had faced in this life and those past. Even if he was unsure of the woman's current identity, she was someone he knew. Killing... killing anyone, but especially eyes you have looked upon with care, even with love, was unfathomable.  
  
"Watcher, this is your only opportunity. The sacrifice must be willing. She has accepted this fate and is ready. If you fail in this, the child and the Slayer both will die. The choice is yours."  
  
With that, the voice slipped away into the shadows.  
  
*****  
  
Spike blinked.  
  
What in bloody hell?, he thought.  
  
He swallowed.  
  
"Hello, Old Friend," William said politely, a little pleased with the stunned reaction of his doppelganger. He held out his hand.  
  
"You?" Spike gasped. "Me... Buffy..." His stunned wordlessness made Buffy giggle.  
  
"The shock wears off in a minute," she said cheerfully, forcibly lifting Spike's right hand to William's. Spike shook mindlessly.  
  
"What are *you* doing here?" Spike asked, trying to come to grips with seeing his former self in the flesh. His flesh.  
  
"I was sent here," William responded. "To watch after Buffy."  
  
Spike pulled Buffy closer so that her body molded to his. The possessiveness of the gesture was not lost on the others. "Mine," he almost snarled.  
  
"She is," William said softly. "And for that, you should be grateful."  
  
Spike eased his grip on Buffy, who was watching the exchange with a sort of surreal amusement. "Buffy, what'd this wanker tell you 'bout me?"  
  
"He's not a 'wanker'?" Buffy responded, trying to mimic Spike's accent. The attempt made both men cringe. "He's actually a lot like you."  
  
William smiled. Spike cringed again.  
  
"Don't *ever*..." Spike began, utterly offended. He looked down at Buffy's pretty, sparkling eyes and suddenly, none of it mattered. "Bloody hell," he whispered, defeated. "You alright, Pet?" His strong fingers delicately stroked her cheeks with more tenderness than Buffy could bear.  
  
"I'm OK," she answered. "Just want to go home."  
  
William looked down again. Knowing that something was for the best and *feeling* that way were utterly different things. He could not help but think that if it had been her and not Cecily, they would both be in Heaven now and he'd have never felt so completely alone.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Spike asked, running his hands over her arms and sides, as if taking inventory of all her parts.  
  
"Physically, I'm great," Buffy answered. "Better than great," she added, flashing William a knowing smile. He returned it warmly, then shook his head almost imperceptibly. Buffy nodded slightly in response. Now was not the time. "I take it that I'm not doing well at home?"  
  
Spike was quiet, seeing her battered body in his mind. He shuddered, shaking his head to clear the image. "No, Love. But you'll heal. We just need to get you back there."  
  
William stared at them for a moment, watching Spike look at her. So much love. So much beauty. It was nearly impossible to want to give her back, but if he had to, he was glad that at least the part of Spike that had been his, loved her as much as he would have. "The night's a bit brisk," William said, rubbing his arms against the chill. "Shall we head back to the house?"  
  
Spike cringed at the way the words sounded. The sickly sweet politeness of the old ways. Was I that much of a poof?, he thought? "House?" he asked, instead.  
  
"C'mon," Buffy answered, turning them back towards the meadow. William walked up next to her on the opposite side, but kept his distance. She was his.  
  
*****  
  
Willow descended the stairs and headed into the kitchen. Cyrus and Xander were both at the counter, piles of books and steaming mugs of coffee littering the surface in front of them.  
  
"Study party?" Willow asked, stretching her arms and yawning.  
  
"Trying to locate the child," Cyrus answered, hurriedly flipping through pages of notes. Willow walked to the coffee maker and poured a cup, then set about making another pot. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was flying through option after option. Times like this, she wished she still had power.  
  
"How's Dawnie?" Xander asked, looking up at Willow with tired and worried eyes.  
  
"Asleep," Willow answered. "The cut was pretty clean and straight so the stitches were easy. Sill, I wish she would've let me take her to the doctor. Hello, just got accepted to med school. Not a doctor yet."  
  
"I'm sure you did great, Will," Xander said, mustering a smile. "Any word on..."  
  
"They're still in there," Willow answered. "Can't break the circle or the spell goes *poof*."  
  
"Oh," Xander commented, nodding. "Is Spike going... you think he's going to be OK to go after Emma when he comes out of it?"  
  
Willow was silent. Magic of this nature did take a lot out of a person. "He's a Vampire," Willow answered. "Not to mention that this is Buffy and his daughter we're talking about. I think we'd agree that he'd fight until he couldn't stand then lay there on the ground insulting everyone until someone gave 'em back."  
  
Xander snorted. "Yeah. Probably right."  
  
"I hate to interrupt but said Vampire will be none too pleased if we haven't located his little girl prior to his return. So, shall we?" Cyrus gushed, nervous at the thought of making no progress by the time Spike came back from the In Between.  
  
Willow planted herself on a stool across from them, picking up a stack of books, and then deciding that she needed fuel before embarking on the quest for knowledge. The girl got back up and headed for the refrigerator, scanning the contents for anything that looked remotely appealing.  
  
Then it dawned on her.  
  
Blood.  
  
"Blood," Willow said, loud enough to make both men's head turn.  
  
"Will, is there something you forgot to tell me?" Xander asked, quirking his eyebrows at her.  
  
"No. Blood. How we find Emma!" She shut the fridge door with an enthusiastic rattle of jars.  
  
"I'm afraid I'm not following," Cyrus said, shaking his head at Willow.  
  
"Dawn's blood opened the portal in Emma's room. Where the carpet is burned. Wouldn't it make sense that the same blood in the same place would open the same portal?"  
  
Cyrus and Xander thought a moment. Overlook the obvious much?  
  
"Dawn's lost a lot of blood," Xander commented. "Could she survive it?"  
  
Willow thought a moment, her eyes blinking steadily to the rhythm of her heart. No arteries had been cut. Dawn had lost quite a bit of blood, but no more than giving blood at school. "Remember when Buffy went to find Spike? Anya said..."  
  
The sound of her name made Xander wince. Part of him was furious with her and the other part desperately feared for her life. Story of their relationship, really. Pride mixed with embarrassment.  
  
"... it would only take a few drops to open a portal."  
  
"Then why did she cut Dawn like that?" Xander asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.  
  
Cyrus looked at the boy with compassion. "She wasn't Anya then, Xander. Not your Anya. She had been taken by the Evil. Remember that."  
  
Xander nodded, trying to keep his aching head from exploding. A nagging thought kept creeping through his mind. Anya is gone. She's not coming back. Not my Anya. She won't ever be Anya again.  
  
"I don't think Spike will be fond of the idea of taking more of Dawn's blood," Cyrus added. "He considers the girl flesh to him. He's lost quite a bit this night and I'm not sure he'd be willing to risk even the slimmest possibility of hurting the last of his family."  
  
Willow sat down, toying with her coffee mug. Taking a sip. Setting the mug down. "I'm not big with the whole deception thing, but do you think it would work if I took it ahead of time and we just tell Spike we thought of it before I stitched Dawnie up? I mean, only if Dawn agrees.."  
  
Xander looked at Willow with a mixture of contempt and relief. As if he'd thought of it but was afraid to say the words. "Would it work... like that?"  
  
"Provided that Spike returns fairly soon and sets off after Emma. But do you think lying to him is the best course of action?" Cyrus pointed out.  
  
"No," Willow answered flatly. "But do you see giving him another major decision to make right now as helping the cause much? I mean, do you see another way to get her back? And do you see him keeping it together having to make the choice to hurt Dawn? He's pretty much done for in the emotional department as it is."  
  
Cyrus thought of the Vampire's worn face and hair trigger during their earlier talk in the kitchen. What would this decision do to his already fragile state of being? "Alright," Cyrus agreed. "But *only* with the girl's consent and you will have to do it right before it is time to open the portal."  
  
"OK," Willow said, rising again. "I'll go and talk to her. Be ready when Spike comes back."  
  
Both men nodded in unison. Willow poured a glass of juice for Dawn, picked up her mug, and headed back up the stairs.  
  
*****  
  
"I'm glad you're here," Buffy whispered, pushing herself impossibly closer to Spike as they walked. William was ahead of them now, leading them back through the moonlit meadow.  
  
"I'm glad you're alright, Pet." He was silent for a long moment. "Buffy, you know... God, I should have never left you there."  
  
"You had too."  
  
"I didn't. The spell had already been passed by then. Willow wasn't the Evil. I left you there for nothing." His face was tortured, guilt spreading fine lines around his eyes and mouth.  
  
"You didn't know, Spike. You had to make a choice. You made the right one," she said quietly, her fingers stroking his back.  
  
"How can you say that when you are here and Emma..." Spike questioned, staring down at her. His eyes looked heavy. Exhausted. Buffy was quiet, walking slowly in stride with him, her head tucked against his chest.  
  
"You will find Emma and I'll get back," she answered. "I have to. For Emma and for you and..." her voice trailed off. "We'll find a way."  
  
Spike stroked her hair gently, feeling at peace, but afraid of it. Knowing he had to leave. Had to leave her here.  
  
"Buffy, you know I can't stay, Love. And if I take you, we both die."  
  
"I know," she answered, quietly.  
  
"We don't have much time. Did he tell you anything?" Spike asked, nodding at William. "Cyrus said that there were spirits that could cross. That they may be able to tell me how to bring you back."  
  
Buffy smiled. "He told me a lot of things."  
  
The Vampire cringed, thinking of he might've said to a girl back in the days of the bloody awful poet. "Hope he hasn't soured you on me, Pet."  
  
"He's sweet," Buffy answered, feeling Spike cringe at the word.  
  
"Sweet?" Spike huffed, indignant. "Bloody poof."  
  
William heard the last words and turned on a heel to face them. "I'll have you know.."  
  
"I'll have you know..." Spike mimicked, bobbing his head back and forth. "Isn't mother expecting you?"  
  
"Spike!" Buffy snapped, slapping Spike's bum. It was the closest part of him to her hand at the time. "Behave. He's taken good care of me here."  
  
"Waz that mean?" Spike snorted, possessively, his lower class accent becoming stronger by the moment.  
  
"Give it a rest," she sighed, frustrated at what seemed to be sibling rivalry.  
  
"Simply took the lady for a walk on the shore and talked to her. I *am* a gentleman," William commented. Spike answered with a smirk.  
  
"I don't doubt that," Spike snarked. Somewhere, he worried that William was the part of him that she really loved. That she really wanted. And if he left her here long enough, she might not want to come home.  
  
"Spike! Enough!" Buffy snarled. "He's been very kind and he's been trying to help me get home. Home? Remember with you. Where I want to be. Alright?" She looked at him, her frustration not able to hide her love. Her desire.  
  
Spike smiled slyly down at his love. Even then her eyes were hungry and dark with need. But she settled for a kiss and a squeeze of the hand. Time was short.  
  
"Now, lay off William. He's really been good to me and we owe him a lot."  
  
Spike grumbled a moment before relenting, nodding at Buffy. "Alright, Love. In the interest of getting you back, I'll play nice." Spike sighed. "Poof," he added under his breath. Couldn't let her get the final word.  
  
A quiet answer came from ahead. "Wanker."  
  
To be contd. 


	21. Countdown

Good evening, everyone!  
  
Thanks *so* much for all the feedback. I have also changed my settings so that if you'd like to leave an anonymous review, you can. Please keep it coming, so I know you like the story:)  
  
I will be traveling over the weekend, so, alas, no weekend edition. The next chapter should be out next Tuesday. That is my hope at least.  
  
Thank you all so much for reading.  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Countdown (The Evil Within - Chapter 21)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: William explains to Spike what will have to happen to save Buffy. A conversation between the two of them finally mends the chasm between old and new. Spike is brought back and readies to embark upon the search for his daughter. But will he be in time to save her?  
  
  
  
Countdown  
  
The door to the house on the tree line opened before William had even reached the front step. Joyce stood in the doorway, nervously chewing on her fingernails and pacing like a caged bird. "William, where were you? There's not much time. We need to figure..." Her words trailed off as she saw her daughter start up the walk, tucked neatly under Spike's arm.  
  
Spike stopped in his tracks at the sight of her. The one person who had shown him real, human compassion in even his darkest days. He stood in the walk, blinking up at her with almost childlike, wide, blue eyes.  
  
"Spike?" Joyce gasped, still standing in the doorway. Buffy smiled up at him as he nodded, speechless. Joyce rushed down the walk as Buffy let go of her love, moving over next to William.  
  
"Spike, how did you..." she began, embracing the Vampire as if he were her own blood. He felt himself tearing, feeling her arms around her. Didn't realize how much he missed her until he saw her once again.  
  
"Had to find her, Joyce. Have to get her home," he whispered into her hair. The same smell of vanilla surrounded her that graced Buffy and their daughter. A comforting, familiar scent that somehow made everything bearable.  
  
Joyce pulled from the embrace. "We'll take care of her, Spike. But there's not much time. They have Emma and the spell has begun."  
  
Immediately, Spike's heart began to thump in his chest as if he'd run a marathon. His face blanked and all of the tranquility of the In Between began to squeeze in around him like a vice. Buffy had not heard her mother's comment. She had followed William into the house, leaving Spike alone with Joyce on the walk.  
  
"Listen to me, Spike. Her voice snapped him from his fear and anger. She planted her hands on his shoulders and trapped his eyes in hers. "We need to go inside and figure a way through this. It's not Buffy's time yet. She has more reasons that you know to get back. But you can't lose control now, alright?" Spike nodded, listening to her, watching her lips form words and feeling them smack into him like a physical blow. "Emma isn't alone and it *can* be stopped, but we need to do things the *right* way, not the first way that comes to mind."  
  
She knew him better than he thought. His first reaction was to grab Buffy and plunge through the doors, taking his chances with impending doom and forcing their way back into their world. But she was right. Impulsivity would be the death of them. Literally.  
  
"We can't upset her now. We can't let her give up," Joyce finished. Spike studied her face. It was comforting and soft. Pretty, wise eyes gazed at him, almost eye level. She smiled at him softly. That gesture alone almost made it alright. Joyce had been all but a perfect mum... to both of them.  
  
"Right then," Spike said, mustering as much bravado as he could. "Tell me what to do."  
  
*****  
  
Spike was tucked into the love seat next to Buffy, her hand enveloped in his. The thought of letting go of that warmth, that solace, was enough to send him into a raging oblivion, but he fought his nature and just held on. William sat on a chair across from them, sleeves rolled to his elbows, leaning over with his arms braced on his knees. Like a doctor giving a couple news. Good or bad was all in how one looked at it.  
  
"So, what you're telling me is that there's not really anything we can do?" Spike said, frustrated with the facts that William had laid before him. Joyce came in, setting tea in front of Buffy and William, and hot chocolate with the little sodding marshmallows in front of Spike. He almost smiled, nodding his appreciation at Joyce as she nervously paced out of the room.  
  
"There is and there isn't," William corrected. "I think that it has been agreed that Buffy needs to go back," he continued, a note of regret in his tone. "So, her death is not a viable option in saving Emma."  
  
"I would say not," Spike huffed, indignantly.  
  
Buffy squeezed Spike's hand. "Hear him out, Spike. He's trying to help us."  
  
Spike sighed, closing his eyes a moment and gathering his thoughts. "I know. Just don't need to waste time on the bloody obvious." He turned his attention back to William. "What else?"  
  
"The equally non-viable option is to let Emma perish. *None* of us would stand for that, so all that leaves us is blood sacrifice."  
  
"Whose blood?" Spike asked. "If all they want is death to stop his, then I will die for them."  
  
William was silent. He knew his twin told the truth. William himself would have died for love. More readily than he had died for lack of it. "I think that Buffy would find that option equally repugnant," William commented. "And it won't do much to reunite your family, so I would ask that you avoid dying at all costs."  
  
Spike looked at William, a half smile breaking on the Vampire's face. "So, what then? I'm assuming you have this all sussed out."  
  
"The Fates will choose a sacrifice. The sacrifice must be willing. If this chosen soul will give his or her life in return for the child, the ritual ends and the child is freed."  
  
Spike was silent for a long moment. "Will I have to kill them?" he asked, hesitantly. "I will if I haf to but I had broken that nasty habit."  
  
Buffy looked at Spike, studying his expression. It amazed her every day how much he had changed. She had no doubt that Spike would do what he had to in order to save Emma, but voicing reservation about killing a human was a new twist.  
  
"You may," William answered softly. "It is up to the Fates, and to Draconius."  
  
Spike looked at Buffy. Her face was worn, but resolute. He couldn't lose her, no matter what the task. He couldn't lose his child. Killing had once been his nature, and if he had to revive that demon he would, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it.  
  
"I don't find the concept particularly pleasant either," William interjected. "But were I in your shoes, I would have to say that the risk was well worth it, both for the sake of your family, and the sake of the world in which you live." William stared at Buffy for a moment, then back to Spike.  
  
The Vampire nodded, understanding what William had offered.  
  
Absolution. Absolution from a creature of Heaven.  
  
"What happens then?" Spike asked quietly.  
  
"If the sacrifice is willing and complete, the child will be freed. To save Buffy, you will have to reach her with the child before her mortal body fails. Emma will be able to save her in the Peacemaker's name as she did with you, provided you reach her before her heart takes its last beat."  
  
Spike swallowed, thinking of the slow, empty thud of her heart. The bruising and countless wounds and broken ribs. He looked over to the woman next to him, so solid, alive, vibrant. Spike wanted her back. Needed her. "How do I get there?"  
  
"Go home," William answered simply. "Then follow the trail they left. You will enter through the same portal by using the Key."  
  
"Dawn?" Buffy asked, sitting forwards in the chair  
  
"She will not be harmed," William answered. "Once you have the child, the portal home will open on it's own. Take the immortal with you as he will know the way."  
  
"Cyrus?" Spike asked, taking in a sharp breath. "He's not involved in what happened to Emma?"  
  
William sat back, crossing his legs. "Not in the way that you are thinking. He's an immortal, but on the side of good. He fought with our father, Spike. And with many good men before him. But there is no time for stories. It has begun."  
  
"What has?" Buffy stuttered. Spike looked at William with pleading eyes. Begging him not to upset her further. William nodded, reading his thoughts.  
  
"The countdown," William answered. "Spike's time here is short."  
  
Buffy looked up at her lover, her eyes filling with hurt and loneliness. The expression made Spike's heart fall in two. He wanted to take her. Or to stay in this place. Never leave her alone. Keep that promise.  
  
"William, speak to you alone?" Spike asked, squeezing Buffy's hand and leaning in to kiss her nose. "Be right back, Pet,"  
  
Buffy nodded up at him, her overwhelming fear and dread flooding into his mind and weighting his legs with lead.  
  
*****  
  
"What is it, Spike?" William asked, curiosity lacing his tone. He closed the front door behind them, leaving them alone on the porch. As Spike looked around, it dawned on him that it was Buffy's porch. Theirs. The In Between was going to make it hard for them to leave.  
  
"Can't say I understand the choices that the Powers make," Spike sighed, sizing up his doppelganger. "Mean, I understand her mum, but you?"  
  
"She trusts you to protect her," William answered. "You are the only one she does trust. The Powers sent me to give you a head start. To keep her believing in you long enough to hold on."  
  
Spike was silent, thinking of how to word the thoughts that ran through his mind. "I know you must love her," he finally said, no possessiveness or jealousy left in his voice. "It was you that fell for her to begin with."  
  
William sighed, equally caught in the wording of his answer. "But it is you that she needs. You that she loves. My... affection... for her is one sided. Like a child to his mother A painter to his muse."  
  
Spike snorted. "You really are a poof." But he held out his hand towards what he once had been.  
  
"And you really are a Wanker," William responded, shaking solemnly.  
  
"You'll watch out for her? Keep her safe here?" Spike asked. "Don't let her give up on us... I mean to say... oh, bloody hell... I'm in love with the girl and I need her there. Don't think we'd make it without her."  
  
William nodded. "I will." The resignation was gone from his tone. Somehow, he fit into their lives, but it was not as her leading man. That position had been rightfully taken. "You've done quite well, Spike."  
  
The Vampire stared at him, feeling a tug on his wrist where the silver strand tightened. Spike began to feel less ... solid. Real. William's statement caught him off guard. Trapped him between honour and shock. Never would he have imagined the man he once was approving in any way of the thing he'd become. Slowly, he nodded at William, not able to answer in any meaningful fashion.  
  
"Buffy," Spike said softly, the band growing tighter against his skin. William nodded in response, pulling open the door and silently escaping into the house.  
  
Joyce stood in the entryway, peering out the open door. It was a vaguely familiar feeling. Being on the outside of this house, of this life, with no one left to talk to save her. "Safe journey, Spike. We'll keep your family safe."  
  
Buffy rushed to the door, past her mum, heading towards Spike. He craned his head to see Joyce, to thank her, but she was gone. Just like the night she had died. Standing outside that house, staring in. Hoping to say something to express his gratitude, but by the time the words came out, she had been gone.  
  
And what was left was even more painful.  
  
Buffy stood in front of him, tiny and fragile, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders where William's suit jacket had been. She wasn't the Slayer here. She was small and feminine and breakable. But she was his Buffy. His everything.  
  
"Spike, I..." Buffy began, the tears starting to fall from her glittering green gold eyes.  
  
"No goodbyes, Pet," he interrupted, feeling the silver strand tug harder at his wrist. Spike moved closer to her, resting his palm on her cheek. Tracing her cheekbones with his thumb and brushing away tears. She closed her eyes, but the silent drops still escaped one by one against his hand. I can't leave her, he thought, panicking.  
  
I have to, he completed in his mind.  
  
"Listen to me," Spike said, pulling her face up so his eyes caught hers. "I have to go find Emma in order to bring you back. But you have to hold on a bit longer. Alright, Love?" Buffy nodded, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mind your mum and William and don't give up on us. Can you do that, Pet?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "I want to go home." It was soft, sweet, almost a whispered confession. She seemed so much like a child So innocent and trusting in this place.  
  
"I know, Buffy. I want you there. I *need* you there. Emma needs you. So you have to stay here no matter what happens until it's safe. Don't give up. Besides, William couldn't handle you that long." He smiled at her, knowing that their time was up.  
  
Buffy chuckled, squeezing his hand. She pressed up on her toes and leaned in to kiss him. It was soft. Delicate. Like a feather brushing his skin. "Please find Emma," she whispered against his lips.  
  
"I promise, Love." It tore Spike's heart from his chest to leave her there, Her beautiful eyes were so needy and tired. "I will find her."  
  
"Good."  
  
"Promise me she'll have her mum when we get back," Spike sighed in response, letting his lips brush hers once again.  
  
"I promise."  
  
Spike felt the silver thread go taut and began to back away from her. Down the stairs of the porch. "I love you, Buffy."  
  
"I love you too," she answered, nervously brushing tears from her cheeks.  
  
"Always," he called up, backing further away.  
  
"Every day."  
  
And he was gone.  
  
To be contd. 


	22. Extension

Good evening, all:)  
  
Sorry for the rather long hiatus, but I had some family matters to attend to. But, I did manage to write all but the final chapter while I was gone. YAY!  
  
Here is chapter 22. The story is winding down, but the action is about to heat up, as is the angst. Never fear, I'll drop you off in a cheery spot when all is said and done.  
  
For now :::insert evil grin here:::  
  
Hope you enjoy and, as always, let me know.  
  
Thanks:)  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Extension (The Evil Within - Chapter 22)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: Spike returns from his journey to the In Between and organizes his trip to find Emma. The truth about Cyrus is revealed. Buffy breaks down as her body fails and William is left to pull together the pieces. But can he convince her to go on?  
  
  
  
Extension  
  
Spike sat up in the bed with a gasp. His eyes were wide and terrified, as if emerging from the bottom of a swimming pool just before his air ran out. Tara jumped, breaking the circle. The silver threads of magic disappeared, almost without notice. Spike sat there a moment, heart pounding, trying to focus. His hand was still hooked through Buffy's, the single strand of her golden hair warm against his palm. Spike clutched it tightly, and then slid it into the pocket of his jeans. He needed to keep her with him.  
  
"Spike... did you find her?" Tara asked, recovering her composure.  
  
"No time," Spike panted, leaning down to the battered form next to him and brushing his lips to hers. Tara looked away. It wasn't for her to see.  
  
"Always, Love. Every day," he whispered to Buffy, kissing her softly once again and bounding from the bed.  
  
"Stay with her," Spike commanded, pulling on his boots, sliding on his duster, all while moving in a panicked flurry around the room. "When you think the Niblet's up to it, bring her in with her sis. It'll help them both."  
  
Tara nodded, still shaky from the magic and Spike's sudden awakening.  
  
"Thank you," Spike said softly, kissing Tara's cheek. She blushed, smiling.  
  
"You found her?"  
  
"Yeah," Spike answered quietly. "She's right as rain."  
  
With that, he jogged down the stairs to find Cyrus.  
  
*****  
  
"We think we found a way to Emma!" Cyrus exclaimed as Spike strode into the kitchen. The Vampire looked completely drained, no pun intended, but more resolute than ever.  
  
"Use the Key. Open it where Anya left. Follow you," Spike ticked off, opening the refrigerator. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to drink in front of them, but knowing that human sustenance was not what he needed for the task at hand.  
  
Spike grabbed a jar of blood, tossing it in the microwave just long enough to make it palatable. There was no time, but he needed to regain strength quickly. The microwave dinged and Spike tossed it open, pointing at Cyrus at the same time. "We go. Now." He strode from the kitchen, downing the contents of the jar as he walked.  
  
"Cyrus? Why?" Xander asked as the two followed Spike through the door. "I mean if Anya's got Emma, wouldn't it make sense for me to go?"  
  
Cyrus was quiet, the tumblers in his head clicking to the answer. There was no time to explain.  
  
"Harris, no time for the sodding inquisition," Spike snarled. "Cyrus goes. Was told you know the way?" His attention turned to the Watcher as he reached the top stair and glanced over his shoulder. Cyrus nodded in reply.  
  
"How?" Xander asked.  
  
"It will draw me there," Cyrus answered, almost dreamily. "I have to be there."  
  
"Why? What is it with crypto-prophesy speak..." Xander's frustration was evident in his movements. He darted around like a frightened rabbit, staring from Spike to Cyrus and back at almost super human speed.  
  
Cyrus sighed. "He's collecting those that were there at the First. Gathering their power and attempting to shatter it all at once. Like a sledgehammer to marbles."  
  
"What?" Xander blurted, his head wagging back and forth in an attempt to catch up with the conversation.  
  
"Harris?" Spike interrupted. No time, he thought. "Dawn up to this? Was told it wouldn't hurt her, but not doin anything less I know she's alright."  
  
"She's fine," Xander answered, glancing at the teenager's door. "Resting."  
  
"Can you get Red then?" Spike asked, needing a distraction. "Wanna hear it from her. Need to know."  
  
"Uh... yeah," the boy muttered, stumbling down the hall. Spike looked at Cyrus seriously, close to wrapping his fingers around the Watcher's throat.  
  
"Right then. Enough of the mystery man charade," the Vampire said dryly. "Tell me where you fit into this. Quickly."  
  
Cyrus stared at Spike's eyes. They teetered between blue and gold. Such a fine line between monster and man. "I was there at the First."  
  
"Did they sell T-shirts for the event 'coz it seems the whole sodding lot of us were hanging about..."  
  
"I was the first Watcher," Cyrus sighed. Spike was taken aback, staring at the youngish looking Brit in his conservative suit. His head tilted, listening. "When the Evil took one twin, I was charged with the remaining sibling. To teach her. Train her to kill what it was that Draconius made. I am the one he truly hates as I was sent from the Powers themselves."  
  
"Like Emma?" Spike asked, trying to piece together the bits in his rattled mind.  
  
"Exactly," Cyrus answered. "We are merely extensions of the Powers themselves."  
  
"Which is why you're immortal. You aren't *real* to begin with," Spike said, letting his tense arms drop to his sides.  
  
"I am every bit as real as Emma," Cyrus answered. "Just a different... composition. It's the spirit that is immortal, not necessarily the body. Not that much different from you or Buffy, to be honest. We just retain the memories of our past lives. Where you are a product of the Powers, we are a part of them."  
  
"So, why are you here then?" Spike asked, cutting to the quick of the matter.  
  
"I am to be Emma's Watcher."  
  
"Sorry. Got that covered," Spike snapped, heading towards the baby's room.  
  
"No," Cyrus drew the word out, almost a full beat. "I'm afraid you don't." Spike turned to look at the man who had suddenly become assertive. "*You*," he enunciated, eyes now glowing an almost neon green, "Are here to reunite the One and to produce the child. *You* are here to champion her. To fight her battles in her name. Be her father. The *Slayer* is here to protect her and to mother her. *I* am here to teach her that which you know nothing about, Vampire."  
  
Spike was silent, struck dumb by Cyrus' outburst. Part of him wanted to beat the Watcher to a bloody pulp for speaking to him in that manner. The rest of him knew Cyrus was telling the truth. "Do you know the way or not?" Spike snarled, slamming open the door of Emma's room with a thud.  
  
"I will find it."  
  
"Then we've nothing further to discuss."  
  
Xander and Willow appeared from Dawn's room, clicking the door shut behind them. The woman held an eyedropper carefully upright as they walked.  
  
"Where's Dawn?" Spike asked, concern flooding his face. "She alright?"  
  
"Fine," Willow answered, smiling nervously. "Sleeping."  
  
"The blood?" Cyrus asked.  
  
Willow raised the eyedropper in response, heading into the bedroom in front of them. She positioned herself to the side of the charred patched of carpet.  
  
"You're tellin me the truth, Red. Niblet's alright?" Spike asked again, quirking an eyebrow at her.  
  
"I promise, " Willow answered. "Soon as she wakes up, we'll take her in with Buffy."  
  
The sound of his lover's name made his heart break anew. "You'll watch after them?" He asked quietly, looking Xander in the eye. Xander nodded his reply, understanding the meaning of the request, and the trust Spike was trying to offer.  
  
"We should go," Cyrus whispered, laying his hand on Spike's forearm. Spike pulled away, still wary of the Watcher's motives.  
  
Willow upended the eyedropper. "Take them down the path to Peace," she whispered, letting the blood drip to the scorched floor.  
  
A flash of blue lit the room, followed by a shimmering, filmy white. Spike looked around, his daughter's clothes and toys everywhere in his sight. He took a breath and stepped through.  
  
*****  
  
"Buffy, please sit down," Joyce pleaded, watching her daughter pace restlessly about the room. Buffy chewed her nails and looked as if she was forcibly restraining herself from pummeling the furniture. "You need to eat something."  
  
"I'm not hungry." The sound was almost a growl.  
  
"Please, Buffy. This is not going to help," Joyce continued, walking towards her child. Buffy shied away. William sat on the couch, hands clasped tight in his lap, watching her.  
  
"How can you ask me to eat when Emma might die?" Buffy snapped, this time a hint of fear and despair creeping into her tone. "How can you ask me to relax?"  
  
"Because," William said calmly. "You've other... family to protect."  
  
Buffy stopped in her tracks, staring at him. Trapped. Joyce shot a glance at William that could have melted a glacier. "You... you told her the future?" Joyce gasped. "You know that..."  
  
"I know that she needed to know at the time, or she would have crossed over." It amazed Buffy how he could cut through all arguments and put a person in her place without ever changing his tone. His sweet face. "Please," he begged, turning his attention to Buffy. "Sit and try to be calm."  
  
Buffy looked at those endless blue eyes and saw just a flash of Spike. Just enough to bring memories flooding back and tears to her eyes. "William, they *can't* die." Her voice wavered and her eyes filled, like emeralds drowning in a pool.  
  
"Neither can you," he answered, pulling her down next to him. She didn't struggle. Joyce sat on the arm of the sofa as Buffy cascaded down. William let her sob into his shirt, his arm tucked around her as her mother stroked her hair. "You must have faith, Buffy. The Powers would not send you such gifts were you meant to end here."  
  
"But Emma," Buffy choked. She was crying like a child, in fits and starts. "Spike."  
  
"Spike will find her in time. And you'll be mended and we'll all go home," William comforted, letting his hand rub her shoulder with infinite tenderness.  
  
"Buffy, you need to be strong now," Joyce added softly. "Just a little longer."  
  
Buffy was quiet save for hiccupping cries. She clung to William's crisp, white shirt. "If... if Spike saves her but doesn't make it to me... the other me... do I stay here?"  
  
William bit his lip, trying to form his answer. She couldn't think this way, even if it would have made everything in his own world somehow complete. "We'd all cross back into Heaven, Buffy," he said cautiously. "But Spike would eventually break under the strain on the One. Emma would be left unprotected. Some would die." He lifted his face to hers. "And others would never come to be."  
  
Buffy blinked at him, watching his kind face. His own eyes were wet and dark with sadness, but glittered with resolve.  
  
"You must go back. You know that."  
  
"I know," Buffy whispered. "It's so... hard. I want to go home, but I feel like home keeps getting further away. Like I'm becoming less... real."  
  
Joyce took her daughter's hand and she turned to face her mother. "Your mortal body is failing, Buffy. It's up to you to keep it alive. You have to believe. And you have to stop yourself from crossing, even when it seems too...peaceful... to resist."  
  
Buffy sat up, tugging William's shirt straight and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm going to go crazy waiting," she sighed. "Can we go for another walk?" She looked at William. It'd be like patrolling without the demons, Buffy thought.  
  
Joyce nodded at the boy. "Go on," she whispered. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."  
  
William stood, tugging Buffy gently to her feet. "It's dark outside, you know," he commented, wrapping the shawl around her shoulders.  
  
Buffy smiled. "That's when I do my best work."  
  
*****  
  
She floated now, suspended above the fire. Flames flickered about her, but never seemed to touch her. Giles watched Emma, levitating in front of him. Helpless. The both of them. She didn't scream or cry. The only way that he knew she was awake and unharmed was her sporadic, gentle movements and the rapid rise and fall of her chest under the fuzzy, pink jumper.  
  
A commotion jarred Giles from his watch. The scuffling of feet. A whimper. Then the body of a woman was shoved through the entryway, sliding almost gracefully to her knees on the stone floor. Her hands were bound in front of her. Her eyes were wide and frightened.  
  
"Anya," He hadn't realized he had said it aloud until the woman's head spun towards where Giles hung.  
  
"Rupert?" she yelped, as Quentin hoisted her to her feet, shoving her to a place opposite Giles around the fire. He could only barely see her through the flickering flame. Emma called out, but the words were unintelligible.  
  
"Anya," Giles repeated, heart sinking. The Mother. His mate. His victim. "Are you alright?"  
  
The woman nodded frantically, but her inability to form words spoke more to her state of mind. Her body shook, eyes wide, staring up at the child she brought to this place.  
  
Anya shifted her gaze back to Giles. He could barely make her out across the blazing fire. But her expression changed. Shifted. And she nodded at him, knowingly. Giles closed his eyes, realizing the gesture for what it was.  
  
Acceptance.  
  
Absolution.  
  
"Shouldn't be long before we get this formality over with," Quentin said coldly, walking around the fire towards Files. " Just waiting on the rest. Of course, the Slayer cannot join us for our little fete as she is dying." Giles swallowed, opening his eyes once again as Quentin unshackled his legs. "And once the child of Peace is gone, she will be dead. The Vampire close behind, no doubt by his own hand. Lovesick sot. All will be right in the world." Giles felt the other leg iron loosen as Quentin spoke.  
  
"Spike will save her," Anya called, knowing the truth. Giles looked at her, quirking his mouth. Well done, he thought. Subterfuge.  
  
"William the *Bloody*," Quentin enunciated, going to work on the cuffs around Giles's wrists, "*cannot* save her. A toothless wolf." The former Watcher turned to Giles. "Now, I'm going to set you free, but let it be known, Mr.. Giles, that if you try to run or fight or, frankly, do *anything* at all, Mistress Lenora will send the child plunging into that fire and save me the trouble of killing her properly. Do we have an understanding?"  
  
The look of hatred on Giles' sunken face burned in the firelight. "Yes," he hissed as Quentin freed his arms, dropping him to the floor. Giles rubbed his wrists, craning his neck back and forth in an effort to exorcise a kink. Unsuccessfully.  
  
"Should be but a moment and we can begin."  
  
*****  
  
"Would you bloody well hurry this up?" Spike snapped, having to slow himself in the darkness to stay aside Cyrus.  
  
"I cannot," Cyrus answered. "If we step off course..."  
  
"What course? We're in a sodding black tunnel. We need to *move*."  
  
"If we step off course," Cyrus reiterated, patiently, "We will end up in another location, which will put your daughter and the Slayer at risk."  
  
"Don't know if you noticed, mate, but they're *already* at risk."  
  
Cyrus shot him a glare in the darkness. "I was avoiding the line of thought that dictates their certain deaths if we don't do this correctly," he stated. Cyrus heard Spike's jaw click shut. "You may be a miracle as far as Vampire's go, but patience is *not* something that the One bestowed upon you."  
  
"Patience!" Spike sputtered. "Look, you git. My daughter and my...." Spike's words trailed off as they both caught sight of an orangey glow ahead of them.  
  
"That's it!" Cyrus exclaimed.  
  
"Can we run now?" Spike asked, like a child being restrained from his heart's desire.  
  
"We can."  
  
Spike sprinted towards the glow at supernatural speed, Cyrus staying on his heels at his own amazing clip. It seemed like an eternity that they ran, the glow never seeming any closer or any further off.  
  
Suddenly, Spike slammed into something and bounced back a step. A fluid, gelatinous wall shimmered before them, opening into a cave. Cyrus stepped towards it, arms outstretched and passing through the doorway as he moved. Cyrus nodded at Spike and stepped into the cave. The Vampire took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and followed Cyrus blindly into the mouth of hell.  
  
To be contd. 


	23. Strength

Good evening, all:)  
  
Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews and emails. Please keep them coming. They make the muse work harder:) Seems like we all need a little good Spike at the moment!  
  
The next chapter should be out Sunday (I might be able to squeeze it out sooner with lots of Red Bull). After that, probably 2 more chapters and an Epilogue. Then we can see about book Five. That is, of course, if you would like that. I write for you guys, so *please* let me know.  
  
Thanks again for reading:)  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Strength (The Evil Within - Chapter 23)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: Buffy and William discuss the ramifications of her decision. Cyrus explains to Spike the importance of the game. But will either of them listen?  
  
  
  
Strength  
  
They walked in silence, the bright light of the full moon filling the landscape with a soft glow. The breeze rustled the leaves on the trees until they seemed if they were singing a beautiful but somehow lonely melody. Buffy was barefoot. The In Between had not bothered to flesh out her wardrobe. Probably for the best, she thought. The more comforts she had, the harder it would be to remember to leave.  
  
William walked beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his hand hanging next to hers, but not touching her skin. He was quiet. Resigned. Buffy knew her task. What was *right* for her to do. But leaving him here, alone, seemed somehow terribly cruel. Joyce appeared... happier... in the Ever After. She had her daughter. The one that had never seen a Vampire or come home at three A.M., battered, or who had burned down the school gymnasium. Not that she felt her mother loved that version any more than the Buffy who had remained behind, but she had *something*.  
  
William seemed alone.  
  
"What do you do all day?" Buffy asked, looking up at the form walking next to her. "In Heaven, I mean. I wasn't there long enough for the novelty to wear off."  
  
William chuckled. "Don't know that we *do* anything. It's more a *sense* of things. As if one was a bit of light to which things occur."  
  
"Not following," Buffy quipped, crinkling her nose.  
  
William crossed his arms, almost protectively. "Not sure how to explain as I am not sure if I understand it all myself. But one *exists* there and is aware of that which went before and that which is to come. One feels completeness and warmth and peace. But it is not as if one *is*." He shook his head, realizing the inadequacy of his explanation.  
  
Buffy stared up at him with curious, dancing eyes. Eyes that questioned him further.  
  
"It's not as if we flit about with angel wings carrying harps and wearing wretched sandals."  
  
Buffy burst out laughing. William could not help but be infected by the sound. As the laughter faded to panting giggles, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she choked out. "Just got a visual of Spike trying to rip his wings off while wearing a big diaper and Doc Martens."  
  
William chuckled again. "Yes, I think my counterpart would be much annoyed by the accoutrements of a classical Heaven."  
  
"Big, old, noisy electric guitar instead of a harp." Buffy giggled.  
  
"Thank goodness that it's *not* like that," William said, smiling down at her. He liked it when she laughed. Her whole face changed. Brightened. The gold in her eyes dance around in deep green pools and little lines etched around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She would be completely at home in her cartoon view of Heaven. Her job, her past, was dark and violent. But her soul, her pretty face, was nothing short of angelic.  
  
"Do you like it there?" Buffy asked, stepping aside as a fawn appeared from no where and brushed past her as if she weren't there at all. She furrowed her brow, watching the little creature, then shrugged and continued walking next to William.  
  
"I do," he answered, and it had been truth. Until he came to this place, he had not remembered what it was to *feel* human. To need contact. To love and be loved on a conscious level. William supposed he would forget again in time and go back to the peaceful knowledge of love on the ethereal plane. But he was reminded of that which he had missed in his former life.  
  
Buffy nodded at him. "Guess I can't blame you. No creepy slimy demons with barbed tentacles. No evil Vampires jumping out from behind tombstones. No hell gods in sleazy dresses trying to kill your family. No taxes..."  
  
Again, William chuckled at her sense of her own life. The simplicity with which she thought of some of the most complex, metaphysical challenges. "Yes," he answered. "But also no battle, no victory, no lust nor passion. As much as Spike has been changed from... well, me... by the demon, so have you by the Slayer. You have a warrior's soul. True peace would not become you for very long. I suppose that is why the Powers sent Emma to you and to Spike."  
  
Buffy thought a moment, stepping back into the tree line and feeling the ground change from grass to bare earth. "How do you mean?"  
  
"Emma," William continued, softly, "Is a part of the Powers themselves. She is the embodiment of Peace. Her very *nature* effects those around her. Breeds tranquility and harmony. Were it *not* for the warrior, the Slayer, in you, and for the demon in Spike, one would imagine that you would simply become complacent in her constant presence. It is that which makes you strong that allows you to protect your daughter."  
  
"Are you... do you mean.. that the Slayer in me is ... evil? Like the demon part of Spike?" Buffy stuttered, the realization of how similar she and her lover have been striking her like a brick.  
  
"No," William answered simply. "What makes you think that?"  
  
"You said that the Slayer part of me and the demon part of Spike... Well, you said it like they were the same thing," Buffy puzzled.  
  
"Not exactly. I said that they made you both warriors. Kept you from becoming complacent."  
  
"But you're making it sound the same. Demon, evil. Slayer, good."  
  
William shook his head, chuckling. "Buffy," he sighed. "You need to categorize things in whatever manner you must in order to perform your duties on your plane. But some things to remember as they apply to you and to Spike, alright?"  
  
Buffy nodded, quirking a brow.  
  
"First of all, the first Vampire and the first Slayer were identical in every way save for gender. The One divided. From whence you came. The power was equally distributed, just morally divided. Morality being a human construct. The point being, they spring from the same source."  
  
"Not sure I know what you are getting at," Buffy commented.  
  
"The Powers," William continued. "There must be balance. The Powers created you both."  
  
"Then why... why Emma, if the Powers want both good and evil?"  
  
"Just because there is both in the universe does not mean that they must continually be at odds. Evil is a label. In our dimension, what is evil could be angelic in another. It's Emma's job to sort that out."  
  
"Hmmm," Buffy mused. "Didn't think of that."  
  
"It's hard to imagine the dimensionality of the Universe when all you see, for the most part, is the World in which you live. It's wholly understandable."  
  
"Still."  
  
William sighed. "On a more... personal... level. You have met the demon in Spike in both battle and in... passion." He blushed, trying to get through the thought without utterly embarrassing himself. "The night that the One was joined, you gave yourself willingly to the demon. You let it feed from you. Gave your life over not to the part of Spike that was formed by me, but to the part of him that *is* Vampire. Did you find that demon wholly evil?"  
  
Buffy thought back to that night. The careful way he let his fangs sink into her so that she would feel no pain. His hesitant ways. How he held her so gently, his hands stroking her back, refusing to continue unless she spoke. Unless she confirmed she was alright. The way her body sang as he suckled her, taking only what was his and leaving her lightheaded and euphoric.  
  
"No." That creature had not been evil.  
  
The demon had loved her as much as the man.  
  
*****  
  
"This way," Cyrus whispered as Spike stepped through the portal. Spike followed him, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The Vampire felt as if the slightest touch, the quietest whimper of his daughter's pain would bring the demon surging forth into a rage that he could not control. Slowly, he clenched and unclenched his fists as they slid along the cold, stone wall. Quietly and far too slowly for Spike's liking.  
  
"Need to find her, Watcher," Spike muttered, absently.  
  
"We need to play our cards correctly or you'll lose them both. I suggest you attempt patience," Cyrus snapped.  
  
Spike began to spit out a response when the sound of chanting drifted to their ears. The smell of fire and what seemed to be decomposition. The acrid taste of some intangible evil. Cyrus lurched forward, breaking into a jog, as Spike loped past him towards the sound.  
  
"Spike, we must be careful, we must..."  
  
But it was too late. Spike rounded the corner and stopped dead, as if physically forced to a halt. Cyrus moved up behind him and into the entryway of the hall.  
  
What lay before them was enough to make Cyrus shudder and the demon in Spike come forth.  
  
*****  
  
The child hovered in the flames, seemingly untouched but utterly enveloped in fire. She cooed and whimpered almost inaudibly, save for her father's heightened hearing. Spike, now fully consumed by the demon within, began to surge forward. Cyrus grabbed his arm, knowing the risk of angering him in this altered state. It was a calculated risk, however. Cyrus had come to realize that it was not just the man that loved his family, but also the demon that shared his body.  
  
Spike stopped, golden eyes flashing fury at the Watcher. Cyrus felt fear urge on his heartbeat, but recovered himself, pulling Spike behind the corner of the wall, unnoticed. "Spike, right now, she is alright. We need to be careful. Not go after her until the time is right or we just jeopardize her safety and that of the Slayer."  
  
The Vampire tensed his jaw, blinking steadily at Cyrus. "My child," he hissed at the Watcher. "They've got her. Fire."  
  
"I know," Cyrus said, his manner now calm, almost comforting. "And we need to return her home safely. We will, William. Be calm. Strength."  
  
Cyrus watched Spike visibly recount his thoughts as they flitted across golden eyes. Spike took a long breath. Then another. A slight shake of the head and his features returned to that of the man.  
  
"What do I do?"  
  
"Wait," Cyrus responded.  
  
"I can't just *wait*."  
  
The struggle between William and the demon flashed along Spike's features like a wave under the surface of his alabaster skin. He was caught between patience and courage and aggression and impulsivity. Respect for the creature before him was magnified in the Watcher. All must battle their natures every day, but most do not have to control, physically, an age-old demon for all eternity.  
  
"We'll go in," Cyrus began in the same, calm tone. "I'll try to control the ritual the best that I can. They cannot complete it without us as it stands. But you *must* be patient. Do *not* go after Emma until I have told you it is safe, alright?" Spike nodded slowly, holding onto his human countenance by a thread. "Position yourself close to her. It may help her to see you if she is afraid. But do not move to touch her without my signal. Stay between her and this doorway and *regardless* of what happens, once she is freed, you *must* take her and return the way we came. Do not hesitate. Do not look back. I will sort out all who are left."  
  
"Draconius," Spike hissed. " I want him dead."  
  
"If we kill Quentin," Cyrus answered softly, "Draconius will return in another form. Take another body. It is not our priority."  
  
"He stole my child." Spike's voice was primal. "He tried to kill Buffy."  
  
Cyrus was patient, quite sure, were he in the same position as Spike, he would feel much the same way. "I understand your desire for retribution, William. However, our duty here is to protect rather than destroy. Vengeance is best handled by others."  
  
Spike was silent, breathing long, slow breaths. "Promise me we will get Emma."  
  
"Do as I say, and you will have her unharmed. Break this agreement and the Fates will change the game and there will be *nothing* I can do."  
  
Spike blinked, then nodded. Cyrus touched his shoulder. "Strength," he whispered, then walked past the Vampire and into the chamber.  
  
*****  
  
The fire spit and hissed around Emma. The baby clung to rabbit, her body nearly still save for her head craning side to side. Searching. She caught sight of him as he walked through the doorway and an impassioned cry wailed from her lips and her arms flung towards her father.  
  
Spike stopped, trapped. Every instinct he possessed urged him into the flame. Grab her and save her. Then kill her captors in a fury the likes of which the world had not seen. Spike looked at Cyrus. Strength. The Vampire stopped just short of the fire's edge. Silent. A straight path behind him to the door.  
  
"Watcher!" Quentin cheered, as Cyrus stepped beyond Spike and into the chamber. The hag chanted loudly in the background. Spike scanned the room and caught sight of Giles to his right. Giles nodded across the fire and Spike's eyes followed. Anya stood, trembling against the wall, staring up at Emma with frightened and sorrowful eyes.  
  
"I see you have collected the Mother and the Father," Cyrus said in a surprisingly strong and commanding voice. "All who were there at the First save the remainder of the One."  
  
"She's still alive?" Quentin asked. Spike's eyes glittered with hatred and rage. "I am impressed. However, the slaughter of her daughter will effectively destroy the One, don't you think?"  
  
Again, Spike began to surge forward but Cyrus put his hand out to stop him. This time, Spike needed the physical reminder to hold his ground. "It would, however it is my duty to not allow this to happen, Draconius."  
  
Quentin laughed. "You cannot stop this, you insignificant twit. Have you no memory?"  
  
"I do," Cyrus answered. Spike returned his gaze to his daughter. Her eyes were pitiful and helpless. The toddler to him. Not the prophesy. What was left of Spike's broken heart crumbled, watching her eyes.  
  
"Only this," Quentin said as a dagger appeared in the flame. He grabbed the hilt, untouched by the fire. "Can stop it."  
  
Anya stood, her countenance shifting once again from terror to confidence. She glared at the hag, concentrating. Willing her. Drawing her in. Quentin walked to Lenora, standing just behind her. "Have the Fates chosen, my dear Lenora?"  
  
The sorceress was silent, staring blindly at the fire. "If the Mother is willing to die for her children, Peace must go free." The voice was cracked, arid, millions of years old.  
  
Anya visibly relaxed, still staring at the pair of them. "I am," she answered, her voice strong and unwavering. Spike looked at her, shock on his face, his head tilting, staring at her small form.  
  
"You will die in her place?" Quentin asked, incredulously. As if he had truly not expected any of them to exchange a life for a life. Little did he know that every one of them would have.  
  
"I will."  
  
"Willingly?"  
  
"Of my own pretense," Anya continued, as if reciting an ancient vow.  
  
"Very well," Quentin said, disheartened. "But who should take your life? It is far easier for the good to be killed than to be a killer." The man spoke the truth. Sacrifice was something to which they had all become accustomed. But killing another human was against the moral construct, even for the Vampire.  
  
"Certainly not Cyrus," Quentin began, brushing past the Watcher. "As it is his sworn duty to guide the child. His job to kill what prevents that." He approached Spike, staring at his hard, fearful face. "How about our noble Vampire? Hmmm? He of the Heart who fights alongside the Slayer for the sake of humanity? Too simple." Spike wanted to grab the creature's throat, ripping his neck out as he brushed past, but stood stock still, never taking his attention from Emma.  
  
"He is the Peacemaker's Champion and the mortal child's father. Killing for her would be too simple a choice," Quentin completed. The Evil walked to Giles. Giles blinked, swallowing, knowing what was to come. "You, however," Quentin began anew, "Were her mate at the First. You've the most to lose. You will have to kill her."  
  
Quentin thrust the dagger at Giles. Giles looked across the fire at Anya, his eyes pleading with anyone to make this stop. To wake him from this nightmare. But nothing came. Anya simply closed her eyes, nodding.  
  
"I will," Giles answered, taking the dagger from Quentin. Quentin's eyes widened as he watched Giles walk around the fire to where Anya stood. Spike felt the terror and anger rip through him as he watched the macabre dance. He dared not move towards them per Cyrus' warning. No one should die tonight.  
  
Giles stopped a pace from the girl. She was frightened, but firm. His hands shook, holding the dagger. "Anya, I..."  
  
"It's my choice, Rupert," she interrupted.  
  
"I don't want to," he whispered, moving closer to her. Tears slid down the Watcher's cheeks.  
  
"I know," she answered, watching his eyes. "But you have to."  
  
His hand moved to her face, his palm resting against her cheek. Softly, he brushed the tears from her eyes with his thumb. "I would have liked to have known you better," he whispered quietly.  
  
Anya smiled softly back at him. "Maybe next time."  
  
Giles leaned in, kissing her forehead gently. She closed her eyes, dropping to her knees. Spike watched in horror, not able to fathom the reality inside the nightmare. Giles drew the dagger above his head, his arms shaking, his lips trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks.  
  
Spike turned his head. He heard Anya gasp and then sigh.  
  
Spike turned back in time to see Rupert catch her head before she sunk to the floor. She clutched her chest. Blood pouring from a wound near her heart. It hadn't been a clean kill. Spike could feel the tears start, knowing what it was to know you are dying. To feel it coming and know there was no stopping it. Giles was broken, shuddering, holding the girl's trembling head in his lap. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and she choked, gasping.  
  
"Now!" Cyrus called to Spike, tearing his attention from the horror before him.  
  
There was a flash of light and the fire blew upwards and out. The room was bathed in white and for a moment, Spike lost sight of her. He caught a flash of pink in front of him, falling like a star from the sky.  
  
To be contd. 


	24. Breath

Good afternoon, All:)  
  
Happy holiday weeekend. Thank you for all of your really wonderful reviews and emails. Please keep them coming:) The next chapter will be out on Tuesday. Story is almost done. Just 2 more chapters and then an Epilogue. So, this time next week, book four should be complete. Please let me know what you think of this story, especially the next few chapters. It's a complex tale and I want to make sure that I get it right. Thank you again for reading my work and for letting me know what you think.  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Breath (The Evil Within - Chapter 24)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: The Ritual of the First reaches its culmination, but can Spike save Emma? Can he get her back in time to save Buffy? William and Buffy have a conversation that ends in tragedy. Will William be able to make it right before it's too late?  
  
Breath  
  
Cyrus watched the Vampire long enough to see him pluck the child, seemingly from the sky, and cradle her gently against his chest. How he ever saw her in the explosion, Cyrus could not fathom. But he had her.  
  
Spike looked around the cave, trying to see past the blinding light. Searching for anyone. Instinct in overdrive, removing sense from his mind.  
  
"Go!" Cyrus screamed over the din of crumbling stone. "Run! Now!"  
  
Spike stared over to where he'd last seen Anya and Giles, but couldn't make out anything in the harsh light and dust. There was nothing now but blinding whiteness. He turned on a heel, clutching Emma to his chest, face buried in her silky hair, and sprinted back the way he had came.  
  
*****  
  
It was dark. Cold. Silent. Anya stood, naked and alone. She could hear herself choking and she could hear Giles' sobs, but she couldn't feel it anymore. Couldn't feel the burn left by the steel in her chest. The bubbling blood in her throat. But she could hear it. Not alive anymore. Not dead.  
  
"Anyanka," a voice whispered tenderly, coming up from behind her in the darkness. A cloak was wrapped around her shoulders and she pulled it tight around her. So cold.  
  
"D'Hoffryn," she acknowledged, her voice quaking from fear and fatigue.  
  
"You did *so* well, child," he said, turning her to face him. "You were always very good at exacting vengeance, but sacrifice... I was not prepared for that."  
  
"I couldn't let her die," Anya said simply.  
  
"Yes. You could have," D'Hoffryn answered. "But you did not."  
  
Anya thought for a moment. "Does that mean that I don't have to... I mean, can I stay human?"  
  
D'Hoffryn sighed, part of him wanting to grant her wish. "I'm afraid not," he answered. "Your death is what ends the spell. Even if I wanted to, I could not save your true humanity now." He was quiet for a moment. "But, if you wish, I will be willing to allow you to die as a human and release you from your contract."  
  
Anya was silent, staring at her once and future master. "If I go back to being a demon, will you let me stay in Sunnydale? Have some say in the jobs? Live as a human?"  
  
D'Hoffryn laughed. Always negotiating a better deal. "Yes," he answered. "I will even allow you to retain some human characteristics."  
  
"Like?"  
  
"You will have all of your powers as a demon, but I will allow you a functioning human body. A heartbeat. Breath. The ability to bear children. And you may maintain your soul."  
  
"M...my soul?" Anya stuttered, taken aback by D'Hoffryn's offer.  
  
"Your soul," he repeated. "But you *are* at my service. You must perform your duties as I request. It may tend to be easier without a human soul."  
  
Anya was quiet, mulling the idea over in her rattled mind. "Can I keep it on a trial basis?"  
  
D'Hoffryn chuckled again. "Yes," he answered. "It is negotiable."  
  
"Will I age... die?"  
  
"Alas, no. At least not as humans do," D'Hoffryn answered. "You will be an immortal. Life and death, I cannot control."  
  
Anya studied him closely. He may be a demon, but he was a demon of his word. The deal seemed more than reasonable. "I accept," she said nodding curtly.  
  
D'Hoffryn slid her amulet gently around her neck, fastening the clasp, and then rested his hands on her shoulders.  
  
"Reanimate."  
  
*****  
  
They walked in the trees now. The mother moon threw shadows along the ground in beautiful patterns of light. Buffy jumped from one patch to the next, like a child playing hopscotch. William smiled as she leapt between them. So innocent here. Free.  
  
As she danced under the moonlight, he thought of a way to talk to her. To tell her what he felt. About his notions. It wasn't proper to just barge into someone's life without asking, if one had the opportunity to do so. Nor did he know if he would even be welcome. But to watch her move, to see her smile, to hear her laugh and feel her love him, every day, would be worth the risk of embarrassment.  
  
William had been so lost in his thoughts that he barely saw her stumble. She stepped down on uneven ground or something. He couldn't tell. But suddenly she was tumbling towards the earth just ahead of him. He slid at her like a runner stealing home and managed to get underneath of her, catching her small frame against him. Buffy slid gently to his chest, and then he settled her to the ground as her balance gave way.  
  
He looked over at her, concerned and stunned, brushing the windblown hair from her cheeks. "Are you hurt?'  
  
Buffy burst into a fit of giggles. "Clumsy, yes. Hurt, no." She began to push herself to her feet when a sharp pain tore through her and she settled back to the ground with a thud and a groan.  
  
"Buffy?" William asked, crawling to her. "Buffy, it's not... Oh God."  
  
"No," she whimpered. "Twisted my ankle."  
  
William visibly relaxed, scampering down to her bare feet to inspect the injured limb. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was supposed to protect her. If anything happened to them...  
  
"William!" Buffy said as if it had been the seventh time she had called to him. "I'm fine. Slayer. Healing."  
  
"You are *not* the Slayer here," he answered, his fingers tracing the rapidly swelling ankle. "We need to get you some ice. Immobilize it." He searched the ground, grabbing a solid branch and breaking it in two, sliding a half along each side of her leg. He removed his jacket in one quick move, ripping the sleeve from his shirt and pulling it down his arm, tying the sticks to her leg. "It could be broken."  
  
"Easy, Dr. William. Just a sprain," she quipped, wincing has he tightened the sleeve around her ankle. "I fall down. It's no big deal."  
  
"You should be more careful," William advised, all humour gone from his tone. "What if it had been worse? What if you..."  
  
Buffy caught his eyes and read them immediately. She nodded, biting her lip. "Lost the baby?" She completed.  
  
"Yes," he answered, turning his attention back to her ankle. He stood, then leaned down, scooping her up and carrying her deeper into the wood.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"We need to put something cold on that. The house is a few kilometers back. There's a stream up ahead."  
  
"I'm okay," Buffy sighed, flopping her head back in frustration. Being fussed over was never something at which she'd been very good.  
  
"Maybe you are, but I promised to protect you," he snapped defensively. "And you didn't answer my question." He was walking at a good clip now, anger and concern fuelling his pace.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"What if you had lost the baby?"  
  
"They're pretty clingy," Buffy answered, looking up at him. "I mean, I patrolled for a long time with Emma. Takes a lot more than,...."  
  
"You aren't the Slayer here," he interrupted. She heard the stream, and then saw it bubble into view. William walked her out to a flat rock on the stream's edge and sat her down gently. He stood, pacing indignantly as she slid her leg into the cold water. He was right. It felt better.  
  
"William," she said softly, tugging at his pant leg as he passed. He stopped, looking down to where she sat. "Nothing's wrong, okay? I feel fine other than the flaming dagger stuck in my leg."  
  
William sat reluctantly, a puff of breath escaping as he eased onto the rock. He removed his shoes and socks, letting his feet dangle into the water next to hers. "You should still be more careful."  
  
"I've done this before, remember?" Buffy said softly. "Emma was fine and she went through a lot more than a tumble."  
  
"Emma was a prophesied child," William countered, about to spill the rest despite warnings. "Predestined. She would have been born safely regardless. Nothing short of your death would've stopped it because the Powers had a mission."  
  
Buffy put her hand on William's leg. He settled just a bit. "It's alright," she whispered. "I promise."  
  
He looked over at her. "Buffy," he sighed. "This will sound peculiar and the fact that it does sound peculiar is peculiar in and of itself..."  
  
"Confusing, much?" Buffy quipped, kicking her feet gently in the water.  
  
"There is no Prophesy for this child. No superhuman mission. No powers save for maybe those naturally inherited from being the child of two beings of preternatural strength and speed. But this child you are carrying is, by and large, normal. It wasn't supposed to happen. No one, not even the Powers, saw it coming. No one thought it could. Emma was supposed to be the miracle arising from the reunion of the One. The only child. But yet again, you *both* defy the laws of metaphysics and fundamental biology in order for you to become pregnant with a human child created by *nothing* but human emotion and genetics. And..."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy interrupted, saving William the embarrassment. "We sort of do that a lot."  
  
William blushed. "I do not need to know."  
  
"So, this baby," she said softly, her hand pressing instinctively to her still flat belly. "Isn't supposed to save the world or learn to fly or create happiness for everyone?"  
  
"No," William answered. "There *is* no Prophesy. It's a child, Buffy. No more and *certainly* no less. And in that fact, you must protect him... or her... all the more."  
  
"No glowy green things or teleportation?" Buffy asked, squinching her nose.  
  
"At most, the child could inherit your strengths. Stronger than normal. Faster. But no. Does that disappoint you?" His voice was tentative rather than accusatory.  
  
Buffy looked at him wide eyed. "No!" She snapped, indignant, her hand now splayed protectively over her abdomen. "He or she ... is mine regardless. I could care less."  
  
She meant it. He knew it. She loved the child already.  
  
"Buffy," he sighed as she slid into the water, trying to stand on the silty bottom of the shallow stream.  
  
"Don't worry, just testing the leg."  
  
"Stay close."  
  
"I think you're taking this protection gig too seriously."  
  
"Buffy," he said, his tone becoming quiet, timid.  
  
"Yeah," she called as she walked further into the stream, the hem of her dress skimming the water. The full force of the moonlight shone down on her, making her glow like an angel.  
  
"I want to go back," he said softly. She stopped, cocking her head to listen.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I want to go back. If you'll have me." He looked like a child. His head was down, sending chestnut hair tumbling around his face. His knees were drawn up to his chest.  
  
It took her a moment to register his request, She stood in the water, restlessly wading. Thinking. "William," she whispered softly.  
  
He never looked up. "I... I'm sorry. It was stupid. I should have..."  
  
Buffy moved in the water, wanting to come back to him, but suddenly the current became strong. "William?"  
  
He looked up, her voice taking on a yelp of surprise. He jumped into the stream. It was raging now, separating her from the shore. "Buffy, stay where you are. Don't cross."  
  
"What?" She screamed. "Why can't I..."  
  
"Stay there!" He commanded. She buried her feet in the silt. "If you touch the other shore you..."  
  
"Cross," she completed as it dawned on her. "Die."  
  
He reached out, grabbing her outstretched hand and pulling, but she wouldn't budge. Terror surged across his face. William tugged again, harder, holding her wrist like a cuff of iron. "Buffy! Come back. Come on..."  
  
"I'm trying!"  
  
"Not hard enough."  
  
"Don't let go," she screamed, almost sobbing, the water rising on her side of the stream.  
  
"Oh God, I promise."  
  
She was silent, looking at his scared blue eyes. She loved those eyes. "William, I'd be honoured."  
  
He looked at her, clinging to her wrist, pulling her towards him as hard as he could. "Buffy?"  
  
"I would be honoured if you were my son."  
  
And the water slipped over her head.  
  
*****  
  
They heard her screaming. Tara was in the bathroom, getting fresh water and mixing the salve for Buffy's wounds. Xander was pacing restlessly down the second floor hall. Waiting. Willow was downstairs making coffee.  
  
They all heard her screaming.  
  
Tara spilled the bowl of water. Xander tripped on a throw rug. Willow dropped the coffee mug and it shattered into a million pieces against the tile.  
  
Still she screamed.  
  
Tara got there first, Xander throwing open the door just after her. Willow tore up the stairs and arrived in the doorway nervously panting. The screaming was disorienting, making it hard to focus on what to do.  
  
Dawn lay in the bed. Screaming. Crying. Terrified.  
  
Buffy was next to her, her body seizing, flopping like a fish out of water. She was choking, gasping for air as if she were drowning. Her mouth was drawn open in a pained grimace. Her dead eyes still stared weightlessly at the ceiling.  
  
Xander grabbed Dawn, pulling her away as Tara moved the nightstand, afraid that Buffy might crack her head against the wood. Willow rushed over, the motion of the others spurring her instinct, and tried to hold her. Tried to think. Xander sat the screeching teen in a chair and rushed back to help Willow.  
  
"What's happening?" He asked, terror shredding his voice. Turning him into a teenager again.  
  
"Sh.. she's dying. Her body's dying," Willow gushed, fear and adrenaline coursing through her like fire.  
  
"What do we do?" Tara asked. "Call an ambulance?"  
  
"What if Spike comes back?" Xander blurted.  
  
"Dammit," Willow mumbled. Tara looked at her, frightened. "Call that nurse. Call anyone who can come here with some medical training. Something."  
  
Tara nodded, tearing out of the room and down the steps.  
  
Buffy flailed underneath of them. Willow crawled up her body and got behind her, positioning herself between Buffy and the headboard. She tied to hold her shoulders down without hurting her any more. Xander grabbed her legs, and then climbed up to sit on her knees. She bucked under them, choking, gasping.  
  
"Oh, God," Xander stuttered, wide eyed. "What do we do? What do we do?"  
  
"Keep her airway open," Willow said, shaking her head clear. She used one hand to manipulate Buffy's head back. Buffy was drowning in front of them. Drowning on dry land. Nothing they could do.  
  
Dawn rushed to the bed, tears streaming. "What can I do?"  
  
"Go help Tara," Xander snapped.  
  
"If she dies, I need to be with her," Dawn raged, climbing onto the bed and laying across her sister's chest. "Shh," she whispered quietly. "Shh. It'll be OK. Stay here with us. Spike'll be back soon."  
  
The bucking stopped.  
  
"Keep talking to her, Dawnie," Willow whispered, hopeful, now able to tilt Buffy's head back enough to let air in her throat. The choking, raspy breaths blew at a dangerously slow rate.  
  
"Stay here, Buffy. We need you," Dawn cooed, stroking her sister's hair. Buffy's dead stare never focused. Never changed. The sound of her lungs was like a gurgling, dying engine. Her chest heaved with effort. "Buffy, we love you. Don't go."  
  
Buffy breathed.  
  
In. Out. In. Out. In.  
  
And she was still.  
  
To be contd. 


	25. Together

Good evening, All:) Wow! I have managed to stay on schedule! Only one more chapter after this and then an Epilogue. So if you are still liking the story, please let me know so the muse can think up something new. If not, thanks *so* much for putting up with me this long! There is a lot of action in these last chapters! I really hope things are coming together as you would have hoped. If not, please feel free to let me know. I welcome all opinions, positive and negative ( I know I need help!).  
  
Thanks again for reading my story. I hope it has been worth the ride. Next chapter on Thursday :::crossing fingers::::  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Together (The Evil Within - Chapter 25)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: Cyrus attempts to rescue Giles from the rubble of the ritual. Spike races back through the portal, but Buffy may already be gone. William tries to save Buffy from crossing over, but he cannot do it alone.  
  
Together  
  
"Rupert?" Cyrus called out into the dust and crumbling stone. Nothing. No one answered. He began to make his way towards the last place he had seen his compatriot. "Rupert?"  
  
"I'm here." The voice was small, weak. Just a few feet from Cyrus, but as hidden as if he were miles away.  
  
"We have to go, Rupert," Cyrus said quietly, his voice hurried. "Can you follow my voice?"  
  
"I'm not leaving."  
  
"We have to go!" Cyrus pleaded. "The cave may crumble and I cannot imagine Draconius will just surrender to our game."  
  
"She's not dead yet," Giles whispered faintly. "She's still here. It... it's taking too long. I won't leave her here to die alone."  
  
"If you stay, you will likely die with her." Cyrus dropped to his knees, his voice both comforting and strong.  
  
"I was willing to die from the start."  
  
Cyrus thought for a moment. "They need you, Rupert. Buffy. Emma. Even Spike."  
  
"They have each other now," Giles commented. "I took Anya's life. I will see her through to the end." The defeat in the Watcher's voice was painful. Horrifying.  
  
"You couldn't have done anything differently."  
  
"That doesn't make it any more *right*," Giles snapped. "Now, please. Off with you. If I do get out, I will contact you. If not..." He was silent for a beat. "Just watch after them. They have enough love to go around, but often not enough sense to fill a thimble."  
  
Cyrus chuckled. "I think they'd rather you insult them personally."  
  
"Go," Giles repeated, clutching Anya closer. Feeling her heart thump its last beats against his chest. "Please."  
  
"You *are* a good man, Rupert," Cyrus said, conceding. He stood, brushing the dust from his pants absently. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of Giles huddled over the girl in the corner. Protecting her from falling stone. Cyrus blinked away tears and turned to run.  
  
*****  
  
Spike ran down the tunnel at full speed, Emma clutched against him. Her head bobbed with every stride in a spray of blonde curls. He wanted to stop and shower her with kisses. Tell her all would be right as rain. But he couldn't. Something was wrong. He could feel it everywhere.  
  
Spike ran faster.  
  
There was no sticky jello door at the end. One moment he was running in the darkness. The next he was screeching to a halt in Emma's bedroom. He paused long enough to look at the little girl, scanning her to make sure she was alright. Planting an impossibly gentle kiss on her forehead. "Got to help your mum, alright?" He whispered, nuzzling Emma's hair with his nose.  
  
She looked up at his eyes. Her face was solemn. "Mommy need us."  
  
Spike stared at her a moment, feeling her words as they were meant. A warning. He kicked open the door and ran down the hallway to their bedroom.  
  
"Spike!" Dawn screeched as he burst through the doorway. Everyone looked up at him. All but Willow. Her mouth was pressed tight to Buffy's. Breathing.  
  
"Oh, God," Spike choked, absently clutching Emma closer. Xander stared at him, terror in his face. Dawn was clinging to Buffy's hand. The Vampire stood in shock and then finally shook his head, snapping himself back to reason. "Does she have a heartbeat?" He demanded, forcing himself closer to the bed.  
  
Xander pressed his fingers to her wrist. He nodded. "A little."  
  
"Get out of the way," Spike muttered. No one moved. "Get out of the bloody way!" He screamed and Dawn and Xander scampered across the room like scolded children. Willow stayed with Buffy, trying to hang on.  
  
Spike sat Emma down on the bed next to her mother. The little girl stared at Buffy for a moment, bright blue eyes blinking down as if studying the best way to handle the crisis. The world was silent. Not even the sounds of the house. No hum of electric. No drip of the faucet. Silent.  
  
The little girl looked at Spike and her eyes slowly changed, glowing a bluish white like moonstones glittering in sunlight. She was brilliant. Beautiful.  
  
Spike moved to Willow, touching her shoulder. The redhead gladly gave way, gasping, moving back to let Spike next to Buffy. Emma crawled closer, mirroring him. As he leaned down pressing his lips to his love's, breathing his life into her, Emma leaned forward placing one hand on her mother's heart and one on her cheek.  
  
He felt the heat against his face and saw the flash of perfect white light, but kept breathing. Filling her with his life. Holding on until she could hold on for herself.  
  
*****  
  
"Buffy, no!" William screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, God, no!" He could no longer see her, although her wrist was still caught in his surprisingly strong grasp. No amount of pulling, straining, would move her from the jaws of the river. But if she were to cross here, he would cross with her. Die again with her or save her .  
  
William barely noticed the flash of white light. The rich scent of vanilla. He heard the still water behind him stir with movement, but wouldn't turn away to look. Couldn't. "Please help us," he begged to whoever could hear him. "Buffy!" He screamed again at the raging water ahead.  
  
"Give me your hand," a smooth, perfect voice whispered into his ear. The voice was luxurious as silk. Something almost tactile. Enchanting.  
  
William turned his head to glance at the girl. She was spell binding. Beautiful. Barely a woman wearing a white silk sheath, her golden blonde hair tumbling down her back. "I... I won't let go," William choked, tears falling like rain.  
  
"Just one," she answered, smiling softly at the man. "Trust me, William."  
  
"How do you..."  
  
"There is no time," The Peacemaker said in the silky, velvet voice. "Please?"  
  
William let one hand slip from Buffy's and thrust it towards the girl. She took it in her delicate, pale fingers. Gracefully, she moved up next to William, plunging her free hand into the depths of the river and grabbing Buffy's lifeless wrist.  
  
"Be brave, William," the girl said quietly. William stared at her, enchanted. "Together, we will put her free."  
  
William nodded. So many questions. Was she an angel? From the Powers? No time.  
  
"Are you ready?" She smiled again in a brilliant array of perfect teeth and pink lips.  
  
William nodded again, tightening his grip.  
  
"Now," the girl said confidently, tugging at Buffy's wrist. William leaned back, pulling with all his might. Buffy slid forward, under the wall of current and popped into the stillness of the calm side of the river. William scrambled back, almost loosing his balance, catching himself just before he toppled into the water.  
  
He slid the lifeless woman across the water, scooping her from the surface like a doll, running to shore with her clutched against his chest. The Peacemaker followed calmly behind.  
  
"Lay her down on the stone, William," the girl said quietly. William was panicked, but complied, setting Buffy gently on the stone that they had been sitting on just moments earlier. It felt as if it had been a century past, William thought.  
  
"Is she... Oh, God. Did I let her cross?" William gushed, his voice wavering, terrified.  
  
"All will be as it should," the girl answered, laying her hand on William's shoulder. Instantly, he calmed as if flooded with contentment.  
  
"Who... who are you?" He asked as she glided though the water and pressed her lithe body against the stone.  
  
The girl turned towards him and smiled, then returned her attention to Buffy. Softly, she laid a hand upon Buffy's chest and one on her cheek. William watched the girl move, her body becoming consumed in an iridescent white light. The colour of moonstone, William mused. He shook his head, blinking, afraid he was entranced or had crossed over himself. But the glow became stronger, spreading over them like white fire.  
  
Then Buffy coughed.  
  
Gently, the girl shifted Buffy to her side, William splashing to her side to help hold her steady. Buffy choked, gagging, water spilling from her lips like rain. The Peacemaker stroked her hair, soothing Buffy as she recovered. William scampered up onto the rock to hold Buffy's head, steadying her. Buffy blinked, opening her eyes and gazing out at the girl.  
  
"Are you alright?" The moonstone child purred, stroking her mother's face. Buffy smiled.  
  
"I thought it was my job to save you?"  
  
"And you have. Many times over," the girl answered smiling. "But it was not I who held you to your life." The girl nodded at William. Buffy rolled onto her back, looking up at him. His face was still damp with tears and river water, and etched with fear and worry.  
  
"Thank you," Buffy whispered up at him, touching William's cheek. He moved her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. His eyes shut tight over tears.  
  
"We must get back," The Peacemaker said quietly to Buffy. "The longer you are away, the harder it will be for your mortal body to recover."  
  
Buffy nodded at her as she gracefully slid up the bank next to them. William stared at the girl in awe and respect. "Say your goodbyes," the girl said kindly, placing her hand on William's. "But it needn't be long, brother." She smiled a blindingly beautiful smile and walked off into the wood.  
  
Pushing herself up on her elbows, Buffy began to sit. William helped her gently from behind. "That was..." he stuttered.  
  
"The Peacemaker," Buffy answered, smiling with pride. "Emma."  
  
William stared at her, dumbfounded. "How..."  
  
"You are the smart one," Buffy quipped, wobbling to her feet. William kept an arm around her waist for support.  
  
"Can you walk?"  
  
"Yes," Buffy answered, turning to face him. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."  
  
William stared at her dancing, green eyes. So perfect. So beautiful. He etched her into his memory. "You'd better go," he whispered, squeezing her hand one last time, then letting it fall to her side.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy replied, glancing down the path. Her daughter waited for her at the tree line. "I meant what I said, William."  
  
He cocked his head in a movement so reminiscent of Spike. Buffy smiled. Maybe the move was reminiscent of William. She pulled his face down to hers and kissed his forehead gently, brushing back his damp hair.  
  
"Goodbye for now," Buffy said softly. "And thank you again."  
  
He stared at her with incredible tenderness. "No," he answered. "It is I who should be thankful." What he would not do to be with her always. "Promise me you will be more careful?" A smiled played upon his lips.  
  
Buffy returned it warmly. "For you."  
  
She took a long look and then turned to go.  
  
*****  
  
Buffy coughed.  
  
It wasn't very loud or very strong, but Spike felt the air he had breathed into her, blow back into his throat. Slowly, he lifted his face from hers. Her eyes were closed softly, long eyelashes dark against her pale skin. Emma was still now stretched cat-like along her mother's side, exhausted.  
  
"Is she..." Xander questioned quietly.  
  
"Shh," Spike hushed, annoyed. He lowered his face to Buffy's, his cheek to her lips, and felt her breath slow but steady against his skin.  
  
Willow leaned tentatively to the bed, feeling Buffy's wrist. Her pulse thumped like a slow drumbeat in her veins. "She's alive," she said quietly.  
  
Xander stumbled back, catching himself at the foot of the bed as if he'd just been punched in the chest. Dawn clung to the chair, white knuckled, afraid to move.  
  
"Spike?" Willow whispered, turning towards the silent Vampire. He looked up at her, not moving his face from Buffy's. "It's too slow. She needs help." She kept her voice low enough that only Spike could hear.  
  
Spike nodded, agreeing. "Did you call for an ambulance?"  
  
"Tara's trying to find a doctor to come here. We didn't want to leave in case you made it back with Emma. Which you did," Willow babbled.  
  
"Can you check?" Spike asked. "Make sure someone's coming?"  
  
Willow nodded at Spike, jogging from the room.  
  
Dawn moved to the bed in slow, careful steps, crawling up opposite Spike. He lifted his eyes to hers. "You alright, Niblet?"  
  
"Yes." It was so soft it barely registered as a whisper.  
  
"Need you to help me. You up to it?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Check out the mite. I didn't even have a chance..." He was close to tears, but swallowed, blinking and reigning his voice back into control. "Get her cleaned up and comfortable and see if you can get her to eat."  
  
"Should she stay?" Dawn asked, quietly. "I mean, can she help?"  
  
"I think she's done all that she can do. Not going to risk her too."  
  
Dawn nodded. Xander picked up the child and gently settled her against Dawn. "Harris, help her."  
  
"I will," Xander agreed, his voice nearly as silent as Dawn's.  
  
Dawn headed for the door, Xander just ahead. Spike crawled up into the bed, pulling Buffy against him, her head resting against his shoulder.  
  
"Spike?" Dawn asked.  
  
"Yeah, Niblet?" He answered. His voice was full of exhaustion. Resignation.  
  
"Can you... feel her there? You know? Like before?"  
  
He closed his eyes, breathing, letting his mind quest out to hers. It took a moment. Usually he could just think about it and it came to pass. Spike kept searching, trying to find her.  
  
It was the pain he felt first. The dull throb. The sharp stings. Then the slow thump of her heart. He grabbed onto it, feeling her, forcing himself further in as if searching for her in a dark room. Spike sensed her, finally, weakly. She felt like a child rolled into a ball, waiting to be comforted. Closed off, but there. Definitely there.  
  
Spike opened his eyes slowly, drowsiness taking over. "S'alright, Nib," he strained. "Just going to take some time."  
  
*****  
  
Giles held her, rocking her. The tears were flowing in childlike sobs. This was so wrong. So horribly wrong. And the voice had lied. Lied. She was dying and that was all. Anya twitched, choking, then fell limp against his legs. The sobbing stopped. The tears were silent. Giles reached to her throat, letting his fingers press to her flesh. He felt a thump. Then another. Then nothing more.  
  
It was done.  
  
He had killed her.  
  
"Oh, Anya," he whispered, brushing blood stained hair from her face. "I am sorry. So terribly sorry."  
  
The words were choked off. Quiet.  
  
"This should never have happened. You shouldn't have been here. God, I wish that Quentin would pay. That he could never hurt any of us again."  
  
Anya's eyes flew open, staring up at Giles in confusion. "Granted," she whispered, pulling herself upright. Giles gasped, scampering back against the wall, watching the dead girl sit. Then stand. Her features morphed into that of the demon.  
  
"Anya?" His voice was shaky. She looked at him, letting her features flash back to human for just one moment.  
  
"Stay safe, Rupert. I'll be back in a flash."  
  
With that, she disappeared into the fire and rubble; leaving the dazed Watcher huddled in the corner.  
  
*****  
  
He was asleep when he heard the door open. His body tensed defensively, his drowsy mind trying to focus on the door. Two figures walked quietly through, letting the door click shut behind them.  
  
"It's alright, Spike."  
  
"Cyrus?" Spike questioned, trying to shake the sleep from his voice.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
"We can talk," the Watcher responded quietly. "This is the doctor. She's... well... a demon."  
  
"A hybrid," the woman answered, smiling softly. "Convenient for this household, I'd imagine."  
  
The woman was pretty. Dark haired. Blue eyed. Looked completely human. "Can you help her?" Spike asked.  
  
"I can try," the woman answered, moving into the soft lamplight. "My name is Takina."  
  
"Spike," he said softly. "Buffy." Spike nodded down at his love.  
  
"I'm acquainted with the legend." Takina smiled slyly. Spike attempted to return it, but only mustered a quiver in the corner of his mouth.  
  
"You're a real doc?"  
  
"I work at Sunnydale General," the woman answered, dropping her leather bag gently on the bed and moving closer to Buffy. "I just have a little more knowledge of the arcane."  
  
Spike nodded, understanding. She treated demons as well. And sicknesses that humans had never dreamed of.  
  
The woman leaned towards Buffy and then stopped, looking politely at Spike. "May I?"  
  
She was of the old ways, Spike thought. The Vampire respected that. Again, he nodded and the doctor dropped gentle fingers to Buffy's face, touching her wounds. "It'll take some time to examine her."  
  
"Why don't we go and talk," Cyrus said, extending his hand to Spike. Spike looked at the Watcher, then the doctor. Then at Buffy.  
  
"I shouldn't leave her."  
  
"I promise to take care of her. It'll go much faster this way," Takina said warmly. Spike thought for a moment, sizing the woman up. She could be trusted. He sensed that.  
  
"Right then," Spike said, defeated. He leaned down, kissing Buffy's nose. "Be right next door, Pet."  
  
He let Cyrus pull him up and lead him from the room.  
  
*****  
  
Giles waited an eternity for her return. In actuality, it had only been moments when she reappeared in the darkness. Shock and confusion had made the wait seem longer. "We need to go," Anya said quietly, thrusting her hand towards Giles and helping him to his feet. Her face was human again, but flat. Emotionless.  
  
"What... what happened?"  
  
"This way," Anya stated, clutching his hand and leading him through the rubble.  
  
"Anya. You... you died," Giles stuttered, at a loss for words.  
  
"I did," she answered, simply. "But I made a deal before it happened."  
  
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place in Giles' rattled mind. The voice. D'Hoffryn. "So, you're a..."  
  
"A Vengeance Demon. Well, sort of," she continued, crinkling her nose. "Time to talk later, but now we need to go."  
  
Giles stopped, her arm tugging her to a halt with him. "The wish. What did you do?"  
  
Anya looked at Giles softly. "Does it matter?"  
  
"It does."  
  
She shrugged, dropping her hands to her sides. "It's my first day back. Not to mention rising from the dead and all..."  
  
"Anya?" Giles chastised.  
  
"I willed Draconius's spirit into the box of Oraclese and I stole Quentin's memory of the First Evil. Of Draconius." She stopped. Thinking. "Oh, and I broke his legs. He deserved it. And every time he tries to do a spell, he will become a goat for a few days."  
  
"You... you didn't kill him?" Giles asked, deeply surprised.  
  
Anya sighed. "Long story. But he won't be able to harm anyone."  
  
Giles smiled at her softly. "Where should we go?"  
  
Anya thought for a moment. "I don't... they're not ready for this. Not yet. Me neither, come to think of it. I just... do you have someplace where I can just... hide.. until I figure all this out?"  
  
The Watcher stared at her compassionately. "I know just the place."  
  
To be contd. 


	26. Blink

Good evening, All:) Well, here it is. The last chapter of book four, save for the Epilogue. I have had a truly rotten day, so I will write my extensive thank yous (not that extensive, but a lot) on Sunday with the last bit. But, hopefully, this chapter will answer a lot of open questions and resolve much of the story. I still have one or two *major* surprises up my sleeve, but I suppose you will have to wait for the weekend. :::: insert evil grin here::: To those of you who have stayed with me through this series, thank you. You are everything to me right now. Your kind words and thoughtful feedback are much appreciated. Please keep the comments coming. They mean the world to me. Without further ado.... Blink. Cheery Vibes*,  
  
Nimue "As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy."  
  
James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Title: Blink (The Evil Within - Chapter 26)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: Buffy struggles to recover, but doesn't seem to succeed. Spike begins to realize that she's just passing through. That she won't stay with him much longer. Giles finds Anya a safe place to hide. Dawn crumbles under the weight of the stress, but manages to gain strength from Spike. Buffy tells Spike everything and all their lives change in the blink of an eye.  
  
Blink  
  
The door to Emma's room swung softly open. Pale light from the hall followed the doctor into the room. Neither Cyrus nor Spike had realized that they had been sitting in darkness until the glow of artificial sunlight crept into the space. The two men stood politely to address her.  
  
They had been sitting there in the darkness, talking about what had happened after Spike had left. About Giles. About Anya. About their allies and their enemies and who had been lost. It had been a difficult tale. One that Cyrus did not enjoy recounting. One that Spike dreaded retelling to Buffy when she recovered. If she recovered.  
  
Dawn had brought Emma back to Spike while they waited. The little girl was washed and fed and dressed in yellow footie pajamas with a small lamb over the heart. She was near limp with fatigue. Spike had held her, rocking her, until she stepped over the edge into dreamland. He thought it only fair to let her rest in her own bed. Pony slept protectively by the crib, in the same spot in which he'd been lying when all of this started.  
  
"She was in the In Between far too long," Takina said quietly. Spike closed his eyes, swallowing. Trying to hold himself together. "Her body has been ravaged. It is hard to tell without x-rays, but she has at least three broken ribs, possibly her collarbone. Her neck is thankfully just sprained, but the wounds of an Octycyrax..."  
  
"Is she coming back?" Spike asked, finally opening his eyes to question the woman.  
  
"Were she anyone but the Slayer, I would say, categorically, no. But as she *is*, coupled with the fact that she has been asking for you..."  
  
Spike jerked back involuntarily, surprise rendering him temporarily senseless. "She's awake?"  
  
"Not very coherent and the wounds to her throat are making it quite hard for her to speak, but.." Takina warned, trying to prepare the Vampire for what would not be an easy sight.  
  
Spike glanced at Cyrus, then at Emma. "Go to her," Cyrus whispered, softly smiling. "Don't disturb the girl. I'll watch after her."  
  
The Vampire hesitated, not wanting to leave Emma again, but not wanting to wake her either. Cyrus had proven himself an ally tonight. "Don't leave her alone," Spike commanded, although it came across as more of a plea.  
  
"I will not," Cyrus answered, his voice quiet and compassionate.  
  
Spike bolted towards the door. Takina grabbed his arm as he passed. He stopped, turning back towards her. "Be careful with her," she whispered. "She is more ill than you might expect. Even for the Slayer, this will not be easy. I will be back to check on her tomorrow. Do you mind if I check over the child?"  
  
Spike nodded. "Please. Thank you."  
  
She smiled, feeling his impatience. "Go to her."  
  
*****  
  
The room was dark save for the soft glow of the table lamp. Her eyes were shut tight as he walked through the door, but he could sense her now. Feel her everywhere. She stirred slightly, as the door clicked shut. He padded toward her, barefoot, lowering himself to the bed. Trying not to disturb her.  
  
Slowly, her hand moved, then stretched towards him. Fingers flexing and unflexing, beaconing him to her side. Spike bit back tears and stretched out next to her, grabbing her hand, feeling the glorious sensation of her fingers slipping through his. Gently, he laid his head next to hers, propped on an elbow, his nose pressed to her cheek.  
  
"Spike?" Buffy's voice had a burned, raspy tone to it. Even with the change, it was music. The tears slid down his face.  
  
"Right here, Pet," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek.  
  
"Am I alive?" She coughed slightly, and then settled back to the pillow.  
  
"Yes," he answered, raining kisses as soft as butterfly wings along her hairline.  
  
"Good," she whispered quietly, trying to smile. Her eyes flickered open under bruised eyelids. Perfect, sparkling green eyes stared up at him. Naked eyes that led him back to her. Her mind. Her soul.  
  
"You're safe now, Love," Spike said quietly, trying to convince himself it was truth. She blinked slowly up at him.  
  
"It hurts." Buffy tried not to wince, but every twitch made her whole body ache.  
  
"I know, Love," he replied, cursing the fact that he was helpless. "I will do anything I can to make it better."  
  
"It's kinda OK, " her choked voice answered, attempting another smile. "Reminds me I'm here. The real here."  
  
Spike was silent for a long moment, studying her. "Do you remember anything? "Bout the In Between? I mean, I know I went there and I know I saw you and that you were alright, but.."  
  
"It's more a sense than a memory," she completed.  
  
"Yeah," Spike agreed, smiling softly and touching her cheek.  
  
"I know," she began, stopping, coughing. Spike lifted her shoulders, helping her to catch her breath. "Slowly, Buffy. We can talk later."  
  
"I.. I'm OK," she countered, panting. "I know I was there and I remember feeling... Safe... and knowing I needed to come back but I can't..." Her words were interrupted by a bout of coughing. "I can't remember everything."  
  
"S'alright, Pet," he whispered, stroking her hair and settling her against his chest. "You're here now."  
  
Suddenly she tensed, her body becoming as tight as wire. "Emma. Emma. Is she...?"  
  
"Shh," Spike comforted, letting his hands trail down her arms. "She's sound asleep in the next room, Pet. Perfect as the day she was born."  
  
Buffy relaxed, swallowing, then began coughing anew. Spike held her wracked body until she pulled herself away, leaning over the bed and emptying herself into a waste bin. He leaned forward, startled, steadying her trembling shoulders. Terror slid through his veins like iced fire as she wretched, seizing beneath him. All he could do was pull her pretty hair behind her and hold her as she cried and shook and hung her head over the side of the bed.  
  
This wasn't right, Spike thought. Slayer. She should be halfway healed by now.  
  
Spike buried his fear, tending to her until she was empty and finally settled, flopping down onto the pillows in exhaustion. He grabbed water from the table and slowly fed it to her until she could no longer drink. She shook, her hand raised to his, hanging on for her life.  
  
"It hurts," Buffy whispered again. "Everything."  
  
"I'll make it alright, Love." Spike pulled her against him, closing his eyes. Her body was limp on his chest. He buried his face in her hair, smelling her shampoo and the soft scent of vanilla. Slowly, he let himself slip into her mind, feeling the exquisite torture of her wounds, her illness. He swallowed, trying to fathom it all, then pulled her closer, sharing it. Taking as much of her pain as he could.  
  
*****  
  
Giles opened the door to a small cottage. They were still in England, but beyond that, all Anya knew was that she was near a stream, in a wood, and it was exactly what she had needed.  
  
He stepped through the door, tossing the keys to a small side table. Anya followed him in, looking around the space. It was quaint, small, but it had everything that one needed. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, fireplace, furniture, blankets, food.  
  
"I used to come here quite often," Giles said, shutting the door. "When I was trying to work through... problems."  
  
"It's nice," Anya said, smiling softly. Giles almost blushed at the girlish look on her face. He'd never noticed how charming she could be.  
  
"It's been in my family for years. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like," Giles continued, closing the door behind him and making his way into the main room.  
  
Anya sat down on the couch. It was chilly. Damp. Early November in the English Countryside. As if reading her mind, Giles crouched upon the hearth and began to build a fire.  
  
"Thank you," Anya said quietly. "For this."  
  
Giles turned to her, shocked. "Anya, I owe you..."  
  
"You don't owe me anything," she interrupted. "We both did what we had to do."  
  
Giles returned his attention to building the fire, setting it ablaze with old newspaper. "I... I'm not certain what to say to you, Anya. What you did was... amazingly selfless."  
  
"It was, wasn't it?" Anya replied, pulling her legs under her in an almost coltish display. She chirped her reply, justifiably proud of her decision.  
  
"It was," he repeated, smiling at her. Giles fell quiet, watching her. "You said that you had made a deal."  
  
"With D'Hoffryn," Anya answered. "If I died, then Emma would be alright. He told me he could save me. Kind of."  
  
"If you became a demon again," Giles said softly.  
  
"Pretty much sums it up," Anya said. Her hands nervously flitted about her collar. "But he said I could keep my human body. So I get to have a heartbeat and I can still have babies."  
  
Giles blushed, turning towards the fire.  
  
"And he let me keep my soul," she dropped like an anvil from a cliff.  
  
Giles' head spun, his neck nearly snapping in his haste to face her. "What?"  
  
"My soul. I still have it. Unless it gets in the way of vengeance," Anya answered, as if it were not in the least bit important.  
  
"So, that's why you didn't kill Quentin," he gasped, the pieces suddenly falling together in his mind.  
  
"A girl can wreak vengeance without all of the death," Anya said. "I think."  
  
Giles chuckled. "Even so. It was a brave thing that you did."  
  
It was Anya's turn to blush. The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire. "We should call them." Giles finally said, standing. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him short, her eyes pleading with his.  
  
Xander. He would never understand. Never accept this. She wasn't ready yet. "Could you just tell them you don't know what happened to me? I know it's a lie, but I'm just... I can't..." Tears pooled behind her eyes.  
  
Giles softened, watching her. "Alright. I owe you that much."  
  
He began towards the kitchen, where an old dial phone hung on the wall. "Rupert?" Anya called after him.  
  
"Yes, Anya?" It was almost heartbreaking to look at her. Something shattered inside the man as he studied her face. What she had done had showed him what was truly inside of her. Demon or not.  
  
"Can I ask you one other favour?" She was biting her lip as if distracting herself from tears.  
  
"Yes. Of course," he answered, feeling a deep obligation and a sense of affection for the girl.  
  
"Will you stay here... with me... just a little while?" She was teary, rolled in a ball. Almost childlike. Afraid of what she was. Who she might become. He couldn't leave her alone like that.  
  
"Of course," Giles repeated. "For as long as you like."  
  
*****  
  
It had been a torturously long night. Buffy was exhausted, but could only sleep in fits and starts. Between the broken bones, raging wounds and bouts of coughing and vomiting, she barely rested at all. Spike didn't leave her side, staying tucked neatly inside her mind and taking what pain he could for her. His body ached and his head pounded, but it was all her body would give to him. The One could only help her so much.  
  
Finally, Buffy fell into a deep sleep, just before dawn. Not the pleasant exhaustion after a good night of rough and tumble, but the fevered, empty unconsciousness of giving up. Spike got up, restless. This wasn't right. It shouldn't be like this, he thought. The aching and burning of healing bones and bruises he could accept, but the rest... The poison of the demon. It shouldn't still be having this effect on the likes of the Slayer.  
  
Spike cleaned up the room, emptying the waste bin, straightening the pile of blankets that she'd craved and discarded a hundred times over the night. He refilled the pitcher of water next to the bed, pouring her a fresh glass. Nervous energy fueled him until he finally forced himself to sit at the edge of the bed, wiping her brow with a washcloth. He chuckled at himself. Even in this state, she was the most beautiful creature he'd seen.  
  
He cocked his head, leaning his face towards hers. The circular marks left by the demon's barbs were fading to a dull purple. The bruises were yellowing. Fading even from last night. Her collarbone and her ribs were knitting, as was the odd bend in her ankle. Her face was ghostly white, but the small scars were healing over at an alarming rate.  
  
So why?  
  
Why did it feel like he was losing her again?  
  
Spike laid down again, pulling her tiny, exhausted body against him. She moaned softly and tried to tuck in closer. "I'm here, Pet. Every day." She settled again into a dreamless sleep.  
  
*****  
  
"Spike?" A quiet voice said from the door. He lifted his head, blinking at the soft light coming in from the hall. He'd fallen asleep once she rested. He had no idea how long he'd been out.  
  
"Dawn?" His sleepy voice grumbled.  
  
"The doctor is here to check on Buffy." Somehow he knew that was not all she needed.  
  
"You can send her up," he croaked, trying to shake the sleep from his mind.  
  
"We... um.. we need food," Dawn said quietly. "Do you want to go to the store?"  
  
Odd question, Spike thought. Not the top of his priority list. "Not really, Niblet. Need to stay with your sis. Can one of the others take you?" Dawn stood in the door. He could see the tears begin to dribble from her eyes.  
  
"I... I really need to get out of the house for a minute." Panic was in her voice. Need.  
  
Spike sat, blinking at her. "You alright?"  
  
"I just need to get outside. I need..." She began to sob noiselessly. Spike got up carefully, walking over to her and pulled her face up to meet his.  
  
"Where is everyone, Love?" His eyes were compassionate. Strong.  
  
"Xander left to take the doctor home last night and Cyrus told Willow and Tara and me about Anya." She swallowed, closing her eyes. "And Giles."  
  
"Oh, God. Niblet, I should have been the one to tell you," Spike commented, wrapping his arm around her.  
  
"Well..." she whispered, almost too quietly to hear. "Then Giles called."  
  
"He what?" Spike gasped. "He's alive?"  
  
"Yeah," Dawn answered, smiling just slightly behind her tears. "But Anya..."  
  
"I know, Pet," Spike comforted. "It shouldn't have been that way."  
  
Dawn was quiet. "When Xander came back, Willow went with Cyrus to break it to him somewhere other than here. In case he..." Spike closed his eyes, remembering the rage he felt at losing Buffy. At almost losing her again.  
  
"Probably for the best, Nibs," he breathed, opening his eyes.  
  
"I... I know. But I just can't stay... trapped... with all this death and..." Dawn stuttered, tears sliding down her face. Spike absently wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, and then looked back over at Buffy. She would want this.  
  
"Doc's here then?" He asked, catching Dawn's eyes with his.  
  
"She's waiting downstairs," Dawn answered. "Tara is with Emma."  
  
"Right then. Why don't you bring up the doctor and ask Tara if she'd mind staying with Buffy. I'm sure the mite could use some air as well."  
  
Dawn smiled softly. "Thank you."  
  
He nodded back at her, turning her to the door and patting her shoulder. "Only for a few minutes, Pet."  
  
*****  
  
It was a pretty afternoon. Hard to believe the world could be so green and sunny when everything else seemed so dark. Dawn was quiet, carrying two paper grocery bags in her arms. Spike had offered, but Emma protested, clinging to her father, tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The teenager didn't complain. She was glad for the air. And the company. And to have anything in the fridge other than blood.  
  
"How do you think Xander is taking it?" Dawn finally asked, keeping stride with Spike. He was trying to be patient, but his stride grew faster with each step towards home.  
  
"Doubtlessly, not well," Spike responded, letting his cheek brush Emma's. The little girl sighed, plopping her head down to his shoulder. Holding her was comfort. A port in the storm. "It's never easy to lose someone."  
  
"I know," Dawn replied solemnly. "I miss mom."  
  
Spike was quiet, a whisper of a memory itching his mind. "I'd wager your mum is someplace... kinder. She'd deserve that, Joyce. Probably watching us all dancing round defending the planet."  
  
Dawn giggled. "I think she'd be proud of you, Spike."  
  
Spike looked at the girl, head tilted as much as Emma's grip would allow. "Why d'you say that?"  
  
"I know it had to be hard. Being a Vampire and all and then... I don't know. Overcoming yourself? Not to mention, loving Buffy before she... accepted it. She must have been hard to love."  
  
"Easiest in the world, Pet," Spike answered, smiling. "Everything about her..."  
  
"I know how you feel," Dawn interrupted, smiling. He could be such a wuss, but somewhere, it was the nicest thing to hear. "I just hope someone will love me like that."  
  
Spike was quiet. "Well, I suppose now that you've grown out of that God awful whining..."  
  
Dawn giggled again. Good, Spike thought. Laughter being the best medicine and all that rubbish. "Was I really that bad?" She asked, crinkling her nose.  
  
"Nightmarish," he teased, shaking his head with disgust. "But you've done a bit of growing up since then."  
  
"Funny," she quipped, "I was about to say the same thing about you."  
  
Touché, Spike thought.  
  
Dawn smiled at him. But then her thoughts got the best of her, making her tense, her tone becoming serious. "Do you think Buffy'll be OK? I mean, it seems... different... this time. Like she shouldn't be so..."  
  
"Ill," Spike completed, turning back towards Dawn.  
  
"You've noticed too?" Dawn crinkled her nose again. It must be a genetic trait.  
  
"Yeah," Spike answered softly. Dawn may have grown up, but she didn't need a healthy dose of Spike paranoia, nor did the tot need to hear her dad say that he thinks her mum might not ever get well. Never know how much she understands. "But she's the Slayer. Sure she'll be up and 'noying us in no time flat."  
  
"You think?" Dawn asked hesitantly.  
  
"I do."  
  
He lied.  
  
They'd lost enough already.  
  
The three of them made it back to the house, climbing the stairs with their cargo. Even from the outside, the house felt dark and serious. Solemn. What I wouldn't do for a little happiness, Spike thought nearly smacking himself for such a poncy idea. But it was true. Laughter. Something to make them feel that life wasn't all struggles and darkness.  
  
Dawn waited while Spike fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As soon as it swung open, she stepped inside, feeling the world change around her. It was fear. Slowly, the girl headed for the kitchen, stopping half way to turn back and look at Spike.  
  
"You going back up with Buffy?" She asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
"Yeah, he answered, latching the door behind him.  
  
"You really think that she'll be alright?" Dawn asked, shifting the bags in her arms.  
  
Spike was quiet, his heart sinking. Emma's breath blew warm against his neck. "She has to be, Nibs."  
  
*****  
  
The doctor and Tara were talking in hushed whispers, standing just outside the bedroom door. Their faces were serious. Solemn. Spike didn't like the looks of the conference at all. He plodded up the stairs, almost dreading what they might have to say. Emma muttered something Spike couldn't decipher and clung tighter to his neck.  
  
"Ladies," he said politely as he reached the top of the stairs. The women turned, startled. "Everything alright?"  
  
Takina walked towards him, her face unreadable. "I was just leaving."  
  
"Wait a minute," Spike commanded, extending his arm out to stop her. She paused, just before hitting his outstretched hand. "What aren't you telling me?"  
  
Takina looked at him with stormy, blue eyes. "Your mate is ill. You should go to her. I will return in a few days to check on her. Now, if you would not mind?" Her voice was crisp, but never ventured even close to impolite. Spike dropped his hand letting her pass. He barely even heard her descend the stairs to leave.  
  
Slowly, Spike walked towards Tara. The woman looked as if she were caught in headlights. "Please tell me what's going on." he pleaded, frustration and fear pounding through his veins.  
  
Tara smiled nervously. "Spike, I... I don't know. Takina just showed me how to make the salves so they would take the pain away a little more effectively. But she didn't.... I don't know anything."  
  
She was hiding something. Spike could read her eyes almost as well as Buffy's. But he also knew she wouldn't budge. "Is she awake?" Spike sighed, giving up.  
  
"Yeah. I think so. We helped her take a bath. Put clothes on. It.. it's what she wanted. I mean, how do you argue when..." Tara stuttered, nervous as if she were being interrogated.  
  
"Alright," Spike whispered. "Need to talk to her. Need to help her."  
  
"Why...why don't you let me take Emma? Buffy's still really tired and really sick. I think she needs some rest." Her voice wavered. Spike was not sure why.  
  
Spike looked at the little girl on his shoulder. "Bebe," Emma whispered, letting go of her grip.  
  
"That's right, Mite. You're the baby," he said softly, kissing her nose. Tara smiled warmly as the child almost toppled backwards from Spike's arms to hers. He brushed Emma's hair from her face.  
  
"You be alright, Mite?" Spike asked, looking the little girl in the eyes.  
  
The baby smiled. "Right Mite."  
  
Spike chuckled, tousling her hair and walking into the bedroom.  
  
*****  
  
His nerves were shot. The women were hiding something. Buffy. He knew it deep in his bones. Last night. Something wrong. She was healing, but still so ill. Something horribly wrong. God, she can't die, he thought.  
  
Spike paused near the bed, trapped by panic. The light blazed beneath the bathroom door. He could hear her wretch and then the scream of the pipes as she flushed the toilet. Please God, not now. I need her. Anything you ask.  
  
He heard the sound of the sink running. Of Buffy brushing her teeth. Spike was paralyzed. Afraid to look at her and see it. Know it. Know that she was just passing through. That she was stopping long enough to say goodbye again. His heart thudded against his ribs. Can't do this. Can't.  
  
A thump in the bathroom sent him sprinting towards the door. He threw it open. Buffy was on the floor, leaned against the cabinets. Her eyes were wide and woozy. "Buffy?" Spike gasped, running over to her.  
  
"M'OK," she muttered. "Just... whoa... dizzy." Her voice still had a little of the burned sound, but it was clearer. More like Buffy.  
  
She was dressed now in sweatpants and a tank top, her damp hair curling round her pretty face. The scars were just white blotches now. The bruises merely shadows on her skin. "Let me help you," Spike pleaded as her eyes tried to focus. She wanted to fight hut the world was spinning far too fast to even know where to begin.  
  
Spike slid a hand under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly. Buffy looked at him, focusing on his perfect, endless blue eyes. They were tired and wet. He looked as if he were trying hard not to sob. Softly, he sat her on the edge of the bed, sitting down next to her, his hip touching hers, his arm around her waist to steady her. She could not tear herself from his wide, terrified eyes.  
  
"Spike, I'm alright," Buffy whispered, letting her hand settle on his thigh. Her head tipped over to rest on his shoulder.  
  
"You aren't, Buffy." he answered, tears slipping out. "I know there's something else." His voice was shaky, choked with sadness. "You're healing but you're too weak, Love. And I'm helpless. God..." Spike broke into fitful sobs, his head buried in her damp hair. "I'm so helpless. I can't lose you again and I can't fix this. I'm so.."  
  
"Spike," she interrupted, fighting off her own tears, feeling his heart breaking against her. She lifted her head from his shoulder, turning his tortured, beautiful face towards hers. "I'm not dying."  
  
"Please, Pet. Please don't lie to me. I sit here and watch you and you're so *weak* and I can't do a *bloody* thing to..."  
  
"Spike," she whispered again, her fingers tracing his cheekbones, his jaw. His skin was damp and perfect. His eyes so sad and beautiful. "I'm not lying to you. I *am* weak, but I'll be fine. I'm getting better."  
  
"Buffy, Love, please. I can't..." The weight of a thousand worlds were in those eyes. He was begging her, pleading with her not to go, but preparing himself for the worst. His thoughts were like lead in her mind.  
  
She leaned to him, pressing her lips softly to his until he relaxed and the tumble of thoughts stopped. Buffy pulled just far enough away to trap his gaze. She found his hand and held it, letting her fingers weave through his, her palm to the back of his hand. He stared at her, afraid. Feeling the tremble of her weakness against his skin.  
  
Buffy never took his eyes from his. She wanted to watch. Wanted to know what his mind would think, what his heart would say. She lifted his hand from his thigh gently. He let her move him like a puppet, enchanted by the softness of her eyes. The perfect, dancing green eyes that he drown in on first gaze.  
  
It didn't register. At least not at first, as she brought his hand to her, pushing up her shirt and sliding their joined fingers across the warm skin of her belly. She held him there a moment, watching. Feeling his skin touching hers. Feeling, finally, whole again. Studying the curious expression on his face.  
  
The puzzle fell together in the blink of an eye. The terror in his eyes, the sadness, was lifted like a dark curtain and his hand moved just barely against the soft, smoothness of her stomach. His head titled, eyes still caught in hers. Questioning her. Knowing the answer when she smiled.  
  
"A.. are you sure?" Spike stuttered, a shocked little slyness playing across his face.  
  
Buffy nodded. "Hence the puke fest."  
  
"It wasn't like that last time," he said, still unsure that this was it. This was the answer. Afraid to believe in anything but fear.  
  
"Emma was a little easier. This one feels like making me work a little harder, that's all. I think this is normal," she said, still smiling.  
  
"H...how?" Spike asked, accepting that she knew. But how could he miss it? Had he been too afraid of losing her to sense it?  
  
Buffy chuckled. "You see, there are these little birds and then these bees and they have hot monkey love in secluded little crypts until...."  
  
Spike closed his eyes, shaking his head, still nagged by disbelief. "But, I thought..."  
  
Buffy became serious again, looking at the fear and joy fighting it out behind his eyes. "We all did," she answered. "Emma was supposed to be our one chance. But I guess they changed the rules," she whispered, feeling his hand move again against her, as if trying to be sure the baby was really there.  
  
He looked at her, confused, but his eyes betraying him. They danced, sparkling, explaining everything for which his mouth could not find words. A brief moment of concern passed back across his face. "Another prophesy?" Spike asked, his voice just the slightest bit weary. Would be nice to know that the Powers weren't just using them to produce the arm that would fight the forces of evil.  
  
Buffy crinkled her nose making him smile. "I'm thinking just a kid kinda kid."  
  
"I like that thought," Spike mused, moving closer to her. She could feel his breath against her face.  
  
"Do you?" She questioned. "Really?" Her mouth was a hair's breadth from his.  
  
"I do," he answered, letting his lips skim hers. "Very much."  
  
"Are you sure?" Every word blew against his mouth, over his tongue, warming him. He could feel her everywhere again. Everything fell contentedly into place.  
  
"Positive, Pet," Spike answered, pulling her closer. Yes. He could honestly say that everything inside of him was glad. Glad that he had been wrong. Glad that she was alright. Glad that they had another chance. Glad to be a father. Once again. His mouth searched hers, his hand still protectively across her belly.  
  
"I love you," he whispered, catching her lower lip and letting it slide along his, savouring her.  
  
"Always," she answered, kissing him again, her free hand tangled in his hair.  
  
"Every day," Spike finished, finding her lips once again and letting himself drown in her.  
  
The house had needed a bit of Happiness. Sometimes you get what you wish for.  
  
End Book Four. - Epilogue to follow. 


	27. Girls and Boys

Good afternoon, All:)  
  
Well, here it is. The Epilogue to The Evil Within. This chapter occurs four months from the end of the book and ties up a few of the loose threads in the story. It *also* opens up a new one.  
  
That's right. A new one.  
  
The feedback both on this list and on ff.net has been overwhelming. I had an idea for a fifth book, but I didn't really know if I could or even should do it. To be honest, I was deathly afraid that this story had become tedious and that you all were getting bored with my whims.  
  
What I have heard the most is "This is how it should have gone." Not so much in the happy family way, but in the sense that Buffy and Spike could have been brought together without losing the story or without losing angst and drama. I began to write this story for that very reason. To prove it *could* be done. I may *not* be (ok, I know I am not) as talented a writer as those employed by ME, but I do think that if I could have made it work, then they could have as well.  
  
Many people have responded to let me know that the story has given them hope on other levels. That despite all the bad stuff in all of our lives, there is someone who loves us. There are kind people. People who will help. If I did that for even one of you, then I am unendingly happy to write this story.  
  
I wrote it this way because I believe that to be true.  
  
There are happy endings. There is hope. And there are always those who love us.  
  
So, that being said, thank you to all of you who have read this story. Thank you millions of times over for those who write me to tell me what you have liked and what you have not. The feedback makes this story. I know there are a lot of you who have written me, but a few of you write me quite a lot to tell me what you think. So special thanks to Karen, J, Bittn, Fallowdoe, Mary Anne, Cindy, Crystal, Misa, Kristi, LML, Sheri, Sharon, Heather, T, Thia, Rachel, Redd, lise, and dozens others that I do not mean to forget but am getting too misty to remember:) Oh, and to BAPS list moms Alane and Laurie for putting up with my monster posts of fic:)  
  
Special thanks to someone who came out of the woodwork to offer to proof some of my work when I needed it (which I invariable do). So thank you PSUbrat for being a great help to me.  
  
Lastly, and mostly, thank you endlessly, a million times over, to my beta and my friend, Eliz. Without you, none of this would have ever come into being. I would have chickened out after book two and scared everyone with the sheer quantities of typographical errors. To the one that shared Red Bull cocktails and had me saying "He's not an unattractive man" for 72 hours straight (did we sleep?), endless thanks. I am better as a writer for your beta-ing, and better as a person to have known you.  
  
That being said, here is the Epilgoue of Book Four. As I have gotten myself all sentimental, you had better write me and tell me how you feel or I will be in need of a group hug and therapy (if I am not already:)).  
  
Again, many thanks.  
  
*Cheery Vibes*, Nimue  
  
"As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy." James Marsters 14 July 2002  
  
Oh, and expect Book Five sometime the week of the premier ;)  
  
Title: Girls and Boys (The Evil Within - Epilogue)  
  
Author: Nimue  
  
Rating: PG -13  
  
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.  
  
Feedback: Yes, please  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)  
  
Summary: Four months later. A covert team of soldiers discover the remains of the shattered ritual of the First. Including one item that they should have never found. Anya informs Giles that she is ready to go back to Sunnydale and face her past. But how will Giles react? Spike is put in what he deems as the most uncomfortable position of them all, but he is rewarded with the revelation of a lifetime.  
  
Girls and Boys  
  
The grass of the manor's manicured yard flattened with the force of compressed air. The tree branches bowed and bent as if pushed down forcibly by the hands of a giant. A roaring whir filled the silent air and a thud followed as the helicopter touched down on the turf.  
  
Three teams of three, all in black, poured out of the gaping black hulls of the beasts. They scattered onto the grass, heads ducked under the whirling blades. They gathered together like warring tribes of hi-tech ants underneath the cover of the wood linee as the flying juggernauts lifted back into the night.  
  
"Captain?" A young soldier breathed as soon as the air was heavy enough to again carry voice.  
  
"Yes, Perez?" The commander answered. His voice was measured, his tone almost kind.  
  
"Not sure why we're on this mission, Sir. I mean no disrespect, but doesn't the Supernatural Investigation Unit have better leads to follow than a four month old hot spot... Sir?" The last word was added almost as an afterthought. Not because Perez did not respect his leader, but because they had grown used to their commander as their confidant as well.  
  
Perez stood stock still at attention, his weapon leaned against his side, resting from hip to chest. He expected an answer.  
  
"Not our job to question orders, Perez," the Captain answered in the same measured voice. "The mission is to clear the manner cave system, contain Draconius in the person of Quentin Travers, and recover any artifacts that may lead us to the location of the Prophesy. To protect and to serve, Unit," he added, with a dashing smile. "Then report back to base. That's all we need to know."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Perez clipped back, clicking his heels together.  
  
"Draconius is said to be one of the most powerful forces in any dimension. If freed from his host, he could inhabit any environment, indefinitely, until a new host is found. Use extreme caution, boys." The Captain eyed his troops carefully. "And ladies," he continued, addressing two smaller, but no less powerful forms in the group. The darker haired woman smiled slyly back at the Captain, almost making the fearless leader blush. The younger, blonde girl snorted in disgust.  
  
"Can we get on with this?" the blonde girl asked, raising her sidearm and aiming at a distant tree.  
  
"We will go when I say we go, Adams," the metered voice responded.  
  
He was quiet a moment, formulating the best course of action. "Perez, Adams, Jackson, take the upper levels. Keep an eye out for the old man. Marshall, Barnes, Palmer, take the northern caves. Robinson and *you*," he continued, pointing at the dark haired woman "Are with me. Any questions?"  
  
The group shook a collective head like brainwashed zombies. "Good luck. Come back alive," the commander concluded. The teams stalked silently into the bushes.  
  
*****  
  
"Rupert?" Her voice was drowsy and rather sultry, he thought, as she rolled over, flopping an arm over his naked chest.  
  
Ask me a year ago if I would be in bed with a girl both half and twenty times my age at once, and I would have laughed, Giles thought. Ask me if I'd be waking up next to a Vengeance Demon and I may have punched you. Ask me if I'd be waking up next to Anya and wanting nothing more than to stay huddled next to her soft, sweet skin, I may have choked.  
  
But a lot happens in a year.  
  
Even more happens in four months.  
  
It had started innocently enough. Giles on the couch. Anya in the bed. Often, they talked most of the night and both ended up sleeping a respectable distance apart next to the fire. Then D'Hoffyrn began to call. And Anya began to work. Not long after, the nightmares started. She'd wake up screaming. Crying. Gasping for air. Sometimes it was the remembrances of past deeds. Sometimes her work. Most often, it was the night in the cave. Cold steel plunging into her heart, night after night after night.  
  
Against every fiber of his being, Giles had suggested that maybe maintaining the soul was not the best course of action. His heart broke at the idea, knowing that the soul was what had truly held her to humanity. She flat out refused. Said there was another way. She'd just have to survive until she found it.  
  
And like every survivor, she did.  
  
Every night that she screamed, Giles was by her side before she even awoke. Comforting her. Letting her cry. Bringing her back from the dead one nightmare at a time. At first, he did it because he owed her. Then because he wanted to help. Then because he loved to see her smile when the horror had passed.  
  
It started with foreheads pressed to one another. Holding each other together despite the hurt. Giles found himself brushing her tears away. Then kissing them from her cheeks. He melted the first time she let her lips brush his, inhaling her breath, her scent. As her small palms held his face and her mouth searched his, Giles realized that there was more to it than compassion or pity or obligation. He could almost feel himself falling, drowning in the woman who was his equal and his friend.  
  
Giles ran from her that night. A gentleman does not take advantage of a woman in so much pain. Even if her skin smelled like raspberries and her beautiful eyes were smoky and heavy with want. Even if her perfect, lithe body was pressed involuntarily against him in the most delightful ways.  
  
A gentleman just didn't, but damned if he didn't want to.  
  
But when she came to him weeks later, happy and alive after spending the day aimlessly walking through the woods and meadows, he didn't refuse. He didn't refuse her kisses. Nor the sweet softness with which she undressed him. Nor the gentle luxury with which she made love to him.  
  
In the cruelest of beginnings, Fate had given him the kindest of chances.  
  
"Yes, my love," Giles answered, rolling on his side to face her. Her hair was a wild tangle across her face, making her look young and free.  
  
"I think I'm ready," she said firmly, brushing the hair from her eyes so she could look at him.  
  
Giles blinked. Ready for what?, he thought. With Anya, it could be anything from breakfast to bingo to babies. "For what, dear?"  
  
"To go home," she answered in the same, confident tone.  
  
Giles blinked again. *That*, he hadn't expected. She had seemed utterly content here. With him. In this life. "Alright," he whispered, sitting up and fetching his glasses from the nightstand. She watched him cautiously, pulling the sheet to her naked chest and sitting up against the pillows.  
  
"I thought you would be happy," Anya said, her brow furrowed in confusion. "To go home and see Buffy and Emma and take over our store again and make large amounts of money..."  
  
"I am happy, " Giles replied unconvincingly, standing and beginning to dress. Face it, he thought, she was through the transition. Used to the idea of being not quite demon and not quite human. Ready to go back to her life. Back to Xander. No need for an old man.  
  
"Rupie?" She questioned. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, dear," he muttered, carefully buttoning his shirt. "I'll go make the arrangements."  
  
Anya was silent, watching. It fell together like puzzle pieces. "Rupert," she said, the chirp gone and a softer, more serious tone in her voice. Giles turned from the doorway to face her. "You are really one of the stupidest people I know," she snapped, rising up from the bed.  
  
He would have noticed her anger, her offense, were he not distracted by the fact that she was standing stark naked, her arms crossed over her pretty breasts, bare foot tapping on the cold wooden floor.  
  
"Uh...Uh," Giles stammered, not sure if his composure had been lost in her comment or her bareness. "You'll catch cold."  
  
It was all he could think of to say.  
  
Anya burst into a fit of giggles, running at him and nearly knocking him back through the doorway. He caught her, her hands on her bare hips, her legs wrapped around his waist. "Rupert," she sighed as if scolding a frustrating child. "This isn't temporary. I want to go back *with* you." She unbuttoned his neatly buttoned shirt as she spoke. "I want more of *this*," she continued, kissing him softly. "Just back where we belong. With our friends. This is permanent, you know, and I won't die, so it'll take a lot to get rid of me." She punctuated every word with a kiss and the unfastening of an article of clothing.  
  
She's like a very pleasant, beautiful, little monkey, Giles thought as she executed a perfect back bend and pulled his dress pants to his ankles.  
  
"And I'll never get wrinkly or saggy," Anya chirped as Giles backed her towards the bed.  
  
"Well, that is an advantage," Giles replied. "Not that I care much about that."  
  
Anya was still. This she actually believed. This was the difference.  
  
A quiet settled over them. Giles broke. "Anya, what about Xander?" He sat gently on the bed, her body still tangled around his. She stayed in his lap, arms draped over his shoulders, thinking.  
  
"He never really loved me," she said frankly. "And I don't think he ever would."  
  
Giles stared at her a moment. "Anya, I don't want you to settle for me."  
  
"Do you love me, Rupert?" She asked. Her face, her eyes, were more naked than her body.  
  
His hand traveled to her face, delicately tracing her jaw. "Yes, Anya."  
  
"I never settled," she whispered. " I was just waiting for Mr. Right." She was silent, watching the relief in his face. "Maybe we should wait a little longer before going back."  
  
*****  
  
"Captain?" A male voice sounded from a corner of the cavern.  
  
"What is it, Robinson?" The commander asked, striding to his subordinate's position.  
  
Robinson raised a small wooden puzzle box, dusting it with black- gloved hands. It looked ancient. Older than time. "What is it, Sir?" The soldier asked. The dark haired female came over and peered almost intimately over her superior's shoulder.  
  
"Box of Oraclese," the woman said frankly, a tone of pride in her voice.  
  
The Captain turned, his gaze settling on the girl. "Very good, soldier," he said, wanting to pat her on the rump but honour and integrity controlling his urges.  
  
"What does it do?" Robinson asked.  
  
"Nothing at the moment. Just a box from legends. It's supposed to be able to contain demons and spirits," the commander answered, rolling the box in one broad palm.  
  
"How do you know it's empty, Sir?" Robinson questioned, eyeing the wood with suspicion.  
  
"Because it held Draconius last, and we know he's in possession of Travers," the Captain answered.  
  
"You couldn't open it anyway," the female soldier teased. "You suck at puzzles."  
  
"Is that a challenge, soldier?" The Captain asked, eyes close to undressing the girl. His eyebrows raised in anticipation. She snorted indignantly as his hands began to spin through the maze.  
  
"You *sure* that thing is empty, sir?" Robinson asked, absently backing away.  
  
"Stand down, soldier. Just legend," the Captain responded, hands deftly working the puzzle.  
  
"What happens if it's not?" Robinson asked the woman.  
  
"Myth has it that the spirit jumps from the box and enters the nearest host," she answered. Robinson backed further away, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. "*Myth*," she toyed, watching his discomfort grow.  
  
The box opened with a pop and hiss of air. The Captain sighed, satisfied. Nothing happened. Robinson's shoulders relaxed visibly. "See? Legen...:"  
  
The commander's words were cut short by an explosion of blinding, white light. It arced from the box like electricity, piercing the commanding officer's eyes. Robinson's gun clattered to the floor as he fled back through the entryway. The woman screamed. The Captain seized, electricity jolting though his body in waves. The light suddenly stopped and the Captain fell to his knees.  
  
"Oh... *God*... are you alright," the female soldier asked, dropping down next to him, all semblance of chain of command gone. Her lover choked and gasped in front of her. "Are you OK?" She repeated, shaking his shoulders, her voice wavering.  
  
The Captain was still for a moment, and then turned empty, black eyes on his mate. "I'm fine," he answered, smiling. The gesture was empty. Hollow.  
  
"Wh..what happened?" She whispered, pushing hair from his face.  
  
He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the power surge through him. "Nothing, my love," he answered, his voice thick Different.  
  
"We.. we should abort, Let the med unit take a look at you," the girl stuttered, helping him to his feet.  
  
"Why?" He asked, wobbling at first, then regaining his balance. "I've never been better."  
  
"C'mon," she pleaded, tugging at his kevlar vest. "We need to get orders."  
  
"I *have* orders," the Captain answered in the same, hollow tone. "Find Peace. Search and Destroy."  
  
*****  
  
Spike slumped in the chair in the sterile, pale green waiting room. His feet shuffled, his body shifting positions every few seconds. Horrible. There was no greater torture than hospital waiting rooms. Glory has been nothing compared to sterile, pale green walls.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to sit here watching all these people staring at the pale fish out of water guy against the wall?" Buffy asked, tossing her magazine to a side table.  
  
"Don't know why we need to be here," Spike grumbled.  
  
"Um... baby," She answered, turning herself in her seat to face him. Even five months pregnant she looked tiny in the wide chair.  
  
"I *know* that, Pet," he conceded, giving the swell in her belly a quick, gentle pat. "But why do we need to be *here*?"  
  
"Not liking of the hospitals?" She asked, crinkling her nose.  
  
"No," he answered simply, in that upper class tone he only took with her or one of the Watchers.  
  
"It's a check up," Buffy said softly, her fingers playing in his.  
  
"Love, I can *hear* the baby. Vampire, remember? I assure you, she's fine," Spike continued, arms crossing over his chest indignantly.  
  
"She?" Buffy grinned, batting her eyelashes at Spike.  
  
"C'mon, Pet. Only be Fate that there'd be another Summers girl to come long and lead old Spike round the bend. Wrap me around another pretty little finger," he whined, pulling his arms tighter against his chest.  
  
"Oh, give it a rest," Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. "You love it."  
  
"When you behave," Spike shot back.  
  
"Funny, seems we're *here* because I didn't," she hmmph'd, crossing her arms. "Didn't seem to mind then."  
  
"Buffy," Spike sighed.  
  
"Just suck it up, Big Bad," she snapped.  
  
"Buffy," he uttered again, realizing that she was now actually quite ticked. Moody bint, he thought, frustration getting the better of him. "I just don't understand why we're here this time. I mean, we never did this with Emma."  
  
Buffy glared at him, her eyes changing like storm clouds passing across the sky. "You weren't *here*," Buffy snarled. Immediately as the last word oozed from her lips, tears filled her eyes.  
  
Bloody *hell*, he thought. Now the tears. Lucked out the first go round.  
  
The look of sheer sadness filled her eyes. No matter how annoyed he was with her, that was the *one* thing he couldn't bear. Emotional terror or not, she was his and he loved her and it was his job to make her happy.  
  
Some days were just easier than others.  
  
Slowly, he wrapped his arm around Buffy's shoulders, pulling her head against him. "S'alright, Pet. Didn't mean to get you all soggy." Buffy giggled as he wiped tears from her cheeks. "Just not much at the whole hospital experience and a little confused as to the change in approach, is all. But," Spike sighed, resigned. "If my beautiful girl needs to be here, then here we are."  
  
"Thank you," she sniffled. "And there *is* a reason."  
  
A nurse came to the doorway. "Buffy Windsor?" Her voice was kind. Gentle. Used to dealing with emotional women, Spike thought. Buffy hopped up, turning towards Spike and extending her hand.  
  
Spike froze, visions of ancient torture devices, curved metal, horrible, prodding instruments, dancing behind his eyes. "Uh, Buffy," Spike sputtered. "I'll wait here with the rest of the blokes."  
  
"Would you come on?" Buffy whined, shaking her outstretched hand.  
  
"Buffy, I'm likely to go all fangy - grr, if I see that..." Spike stuttered, his eyes pleading to let him stay in the nice sterile, pale, green waiting room.  
  
"Eeeewwww," Buffy responded, squinching her face. "Nothing like that."  
  
"Buffy," he whined once more. Last ditch effort.  
  
"Now!" she snapped, turning on a heel and following the nurse.  
  
*****  
  
Spike paced around the back of the darkened room, patting his coat pockets for a cigarette. Hadn't smoked in years now, but the habit of looking for them hadn't changed. His tact with his Slayer had changed from defiance to pleading.  
  
"Buffy, I shouldn't be here," he uttered, nervously.  
  
"Relax, already," she answered from the table. She was still dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. Couldn't even tell she was pregnant in those clothes. Guess that's how she wants it, Spike thought. Couldn't understand that. To him, she was just as sexy and even more beautiful with that pretty swell of a tummy that he put there. Up to him, she should walk around naked all day. Well, at least round him.  
  
The strange deluge of R-rated Buffy thoughts distracted him until two women walked through the door. One he recognized as Takina. As soon as he saw the artificial light in the hall, he bolted for the door.  
  
"Stop him," Buffy sighed. Takina put out one hand, planting it firmly in his chest.  
  
"Stay," the doctor scolded, slyly smiling at the Vampire. He smirked at her, but backed up against the wall, outnumbered by estrogen.  
  
Story of my life, Spike thought.  
  
Takina moved to address Buffy. "As you plan on delivering at home again, and as the child is of a ... supernatural... parentage, I will stay with the obstetrician. When the time comes, I will be there to deliver the child."  
  
Buffy nodded, watching Takina as the other doctor shook a bottle then squirted blue goo all over her belly. Spike winced, watching her flinch at the cold, but he could feel that she was calm and hear the rain like beat of her heart interspersed with the barely audible patter of the child's. He closed his eyes, listening. Tuning out everything but the beautiful music of heartbeats.  
  
"You might want to see this," Takina whispered. She had made it all the way to his ear without him taking notice. Her lips were centimeters from the side of his face. Spike jumped, eyes opening wide.  
  
"What?" Spike asked.  
  
Takina pointed at a monitor. Spike glanced at it, then over at Buffy. She was still mostly dressed, lying there as the other doctor moved the paddle over her. "Go," Takina said softly.  
  
Spike walked forward, genuinely curious, and stood next to Buffy. She was crying softly. He put his hand on her head, pulling it against his hip and twining her hair around her fingers. Takina moved next to the monitor. Spike tried to focus, but wasn't seeing much.  
  
Then it fluttered. Came into focus. Like one of those paintings that make sense only when looked at the right way.  
  
"My God," he gasped, making Buffy chuckle.  
  
"Wonders of modern technology," she said, tears still streaming down her cheeks. He understood, for once. He was getting a little misty himself.  
  
"Do you want to know?" Takina asked, looking at Buffy.  
  
"Can you tell?" Buffy asked.  
  
"With this one," Takina laughed.  
  
"What... what's wrong?" Spike questioned, lost.  
  
Buffy looked over at him. He was staring wide-eyed, fascinated by the tiny, fluttering picture. She smiled. "Nothing's wrong. She wants to know if we want to know the sex."  
  
Spike looked down at her, brushing pretty blonde hair from her cheeks. "Up to you, Pet."  
  
Buffy turned back to Takina, looking thoughtfully at the screen. Finally, she nodded.  
  
*****  
  
They laid quietly in their bed, the late afternoon sunlight bathing the room in a golden glow. Buffy lay on her side, Spike spooned behind her, one hand under his head, the other protectively around her waist.  
  
"You still mad about me dragging you to the hospital?" Buffy asked, pushing in closer.  
  
Softly, he kissed her neck. "No, Pet."  
  
"I wanted to see. I wanted you to see," she whispered. "I wanted..."  
  
"You were right, Love. I'm glad you made me stay," Spike interrupted, his lips wandering over her bare shoulders. "Amazing."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Pretty neat, hunh?"  
  
He answered with a kiss to the nape of her neck that made her entire body shiver. She hummed, backing closer to him under the sheet. "So what do you think?" She asked.  
  
"About?" he asked, planting more kisses along the back of her shoulders.  
  
"Everything," she sighed, distracted by his breath on her neck.  
  
"I think you're beautiful," Spike whispered, his nose nuzzling the shell of her earlobe.  
  
"I'm getting fat," Buffy said quietly. She meant it. Not this, he thought, rolling her onto her back and pulling the sheet from her naked form.  
  
"No," Spike said, his voice lowering, becoming husky. "You are more beautiful now than ever."  
  
"I'm bigger this time," she whispered, shyly.  
  
"Buffy," he sighed, kissing her nose. "You're still half the size of most of the women who are *not* in a family way in this world. Not to mention that you are amazingly sexy," he continued, planting beautifully placed kisses along her collar bones. "And beyond all of *that*," he went on, leaning down to kiss her belly, "That is my son. He should be bigger. He's no poof."  
  
Buffy giggled as he kissed every square inch of her naked stomach, then worked his way back to her lips. "You really think I am pretty?"  
  
"I think you *know* the answer to that," Spike purred in a husky, breathless voice, pressing close to her. Her body melted under his lips. His hand stayed planted on her belly. "What do you want to name our son?" He asked, pride filling him.  
  
"You're liking of the boy-child," Buffy quipped, wrapping her hand over his.  
  
"Can't help it," he said. "Little me runnin round the place. Kind of endearing, innit?"  
  
Buffy shuddered. "Yikes!"  
  
"What?" Spike gasped in mock offense.  
  
"Two yous?" Buffy complained, crinkling her nose.  
  
"Problem with that, Pet?" He asked, hiding a smile.  
  
"No," she giggled in response. "But we might want to start saving bail money."  
  
Spike stopped his wandering kisses, gasping at her in feigned horror. "Well, if *that*'s what you think," he complained, rolling away. She grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to her. Spike fell back against her warm body willingly.  
  
"William," Buffy finally answered, pulling his hand back to the baby with hers.  
  
Spike blinked up at her. "You sure?"  
  
"Just... I dunno... feels right," Buffy replied, shrugging.  
  
"William," he repeated. "My son William. Maybe it'll suit him better than it did me."  
  
"I don't know," Buffy said, turning her eyes toward Spike and catching him in her gaze. "I think it suits you too."  
  
Spike swallowed. "I'm no poof. I'm not that sodding poet..."  
  
Buffy stopped his rant with a bruising kiss. He immediately melted into her, forgetting the ramble. "I love you, Spike. You know that. All of you," Buffy whispered, breathy as she came up for air.  
  
"And I'm hopelessly in love with you," Spike sighed.  
  
"Hopelessly?" She questioned, smiling.  
  
"Always," Spike answered, pulling her tighter against him.  
  
"Every day?" Buffy asked, staring up into endless, perfect blue eyes.  
  
"Every day," Spike repeated, his mouth pressing, once again, to hers.  
  
Fin 


End file.
